


Through A Glass Darkly

by Arianna



Series: Finding the Right Path [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode: s04e08 The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 81,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8654182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: Follow-Up to Without Trust... This one deals with the consequences of TSbyBS.





	1. If I Give Away All I Have…

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [Starfox's Mansion](http://www.wolfpanther.com/).
> 
> Story Consultant and Editor: Susan (aka Brill).
> 
> Well, like so many others, I have to take my stab at The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg, particularly at what came after…so, here it is. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Dedications: To Ceryndip, for introducing me to these wonderful characters and ensuring I got the chance to know them so well; to Susan, for your wonderful and insightful commentary…not to mention, your keen editor's eye! And, Starfox, thanks for hosting my stories on your marvelous site.

Amazement gave way to stunned disbelief when Jim grabbed him in a headlock and started rubbing his hair vigorously, saying something about making a 'Blairskin rug'. It was meant in fun, born of affection, and Blair knew it…but it was too much. He felt something deep inside rebel and crack against this last barrage of emotional overload and he fought with real vigor to free himself, embarrassed when he ended up pushing Jim off-balance, and had to grab his friend quickly before Ellison's bad leg gave out and he ended up on his ass. For a moment, there was only silence in the squad room and Blair wondered if he'd actually shouted, "Get off me!" out loud. The bright smile on Jim's face faltered as he stared at his young friend, unable to keep up with the hectic mixture of emotions that skittered across Sandburg's face.

"Hey, Chief…I was just kidding around…" the Detective stammered, as he stood perfectly still in Blair's grip, not wanting to shake off the hand that clenched his arm so tightly. But, Blair's hand fell away of its own accord as the younger man stood back a step.

"I know, Jim…it's okay…it's just…I don't know what to say," Blair murmured, too overwhelmed with all that had happened to get his thoughts into anything resembling coherence. Suddenly aware of the silence, he looked up and around at all the faces of the friends who'd come to him with such gleeful satisfaction at being able to offer him a permanent entry to their ranks. And at his mother, who now looked uncertain and confused. Swallowing, he tried to reconcile a lifetime of his mother's jibes against 'pigs' and her pithily and frequently expressed ideas about people who carried guns and resolved problems with violence with her apparent joyful acceptance this afternoon that he was to be offered the opportunity to become a police officer for real. It didn't wash, a voice inside screamed at him…she'd _hate_ this. She was here because she felt guilty about what had happened, blaming herself for having destroyed all he'd ever dreamed of being in his life. She was trying to be happy about it because she'd hoped it would make _him_ happy.

And, Simon, who was frowning at him now, not in anger, but thoughtfully…Joel, who looked sad all of a sudden, with that expression that said he wished he could think of something, anything, to say that would help make everything all right. Megan cocked her head as she studied him, while Rafe and H. couldn't seem to meet his eyes. Rhonda had turned away, to busy herself with some files as if everything was fine, but her hands were trembling, and she was blinking as if she was trying hard not to cry.

When he saw Blair lift a hand as if trying to stave off the world, knowing that he couldn't, Simon felt a stab of shame that they had burst in on him like this, without affording him the respect of being able to consider in private whether being a cop was what he really wanted to do with his life. "Sandburg," Simon said with a carefully neutral tone to break the silence, "I know we've caught you off-guard. We just wanted you to know that we want to keep you on the team. But…if you need time to think about it…well, you're entitled, son. It's _your_ life."

Taking a deep breath, swallowing hard, Blair replied, "Thanks, Simon…you just caught me _like totally_ off-guard, man, that's all. I never expected anything like this. I…" he shook his head, "I don't know how you ever got anybody to agree to even _consider_ letting me into the Academy…not after…well…" Blair's voice faded as he gathered his thoughts. Cutting Jim a quick look, feeling bad about the confusion he saw there, Blair gave himself a mental shake. Wasn't this why he'd done what he'd done? To protect Jim…to safeguard what they had? The friendship at least, since he'd never held out any hope that the Police Department would allow him to continue as Jim's unofficial partner…and now they were giving him a chance to make it official, a chance to rescue something, the most important thing, their partnership, from the ashes of his life.

Straightening his shoulders, trying to smile with some degree of enthusiasm, Blair shook his head as he continued, "I don't need to think about it, Simon. This is an incredible opportunity, really awesome, man, and I'm truly grateful. I'd have to be a fool not to accept." Holding up his hands, with a broad grin at Jim and then at H., he chirped, "No comments on that from the peanut gallery!"

It was working. They had all relaxed again and were starting to smile back at him, if a bit tentatively.

"You're sure?" Simon pressed, his piercing gaze trying to read Blair's heart and soul since he'd long ago learned not to simply trust the face the young man showed the world.

Nodding, Blair said seriously, "I'm sure. Thank you, Simon, for giving me this chance…and…and all of you, for wanting to keep me around."

"Well, then, let's go somewhere to celebrate!" H. called out. "Hairboy is here to stay!"

The suggestion was loudly acclaimed by the others, but Blair just grinned deprecatingly as he said quietly, "Maybe we should wait until I actually graduate…."

Simon nodded as if he'd just said something profound and very wise. "Blair's right, people…time enough to celebrate with a big graduation bash," he agreed. Sighing, to give weight to Blair's wishes, he added, "To be honest, I have to admit I'm a little tired anyway…and Megan, you still look like you could use more time to recover. So, let's postpone the party." Pausing, Simon leaned forward in the wheelchair, his hand out toward Blair. Suddenly self-conscious, Sandburg stepped forward to grasp it, having to blink hard when Simon said quietly, "You're a fine detective, Sandburg, and an even better man. This will just give you the credentials to allow you to do what you've already been doing so well for a long time now. It will be a pleasure to serve with you when you graduate and come back to us."

Blair felt Jim's hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little to add his own silent agreement to those heartfelt words. Sandburg wanted to say something to express how deeply Simon's words had touched him, but he couldn't seem to swallow past the huge lump that had risen in his throat. He held the captain's firm grip tightly for a long moment as he struggled for composure, not realizing that all that he felt was blazing from his tear-dampened eyes. Simon pressed back, nodding, having to blink himself, feeling pressure in his own chest and throat at the naked gratitude that was so immense it was almost painful to look at. The kid gave so much and never did seem to understand how special he was…was always so damned surprised when anyone noticed and acknowledged him, or heaven forbid, actually _praised_ him.

Sniffing, Blair finally managed to murmur, "It will be a privilege to be on your team, Simon, for real, I mean."

His lips twisting into a sardonic smile as he let Blair's hand go and sat back, the captain said sternly, "You have always been a member of this team, and don't you forget it." But, then he relented with a nod, "But, I know what you mean." Turning to the others, he barked with feigned gruffness, "And now, it's time for everyone to get back to work! Let's go, people…we'll celebrate another time."

With mock grumbles, the impromptu gathering broke up, each detective first moving to clap Blair on the shoulder and add their own muttered but equally sincere words of welcome to their fraternity. Joel stood back, moving forward only when Simon, Megan, Rafe and H. had drifted away. "You okay, Blair?" he asked softly, his eyes warm with concern as he laid a hand on Sandburg's arm.

"I'll be fine, Joel, thanks," Blair replied, his eyes skittering away as he avoided a direct answer. 'Okay'? No, not by a long shot…but, he would be, given time.

Not missing the slight obfuscation, Joel just nodded with understanding. "You ever need to talk…you know where to find me, all right?" he offered, his voice gentle, sincere. Everyone, including Blair, knew he had a soft spot for this kid and would do just about anything for him. He couldn't help the paternal feelings he felt, or the way those feelings opened him up to share the pain as well as the joys of this bright young man's life. When he'd watched that terrible news conference, and saw the pain of overwhelming sorrow on Blair's face, he had thought he might weep for the grief of it. Joel didn't begin to understand everything that went on between Ellison and Sandburg, or what the whole truth of this Sentinel business was, but one thing he did know. Sandburg had crucified himself publicly on national television to protect a friend…the only lies he'd told were in front of that damned camera and the soulless crowd at the university. Joel couldn't imagine the courage that had taken. But, he knew the pain of losing something you've loved with your whole being, knew that look on a man's face…and he'd seen that look on Sandburg's face during his short statement. He was throwing away everything he'd ever thought he'd be, his life's work, his identity in so many ways, the joy he'd found in teaching, destroying his own reputation for credibility and integrity…throwing it away with grace and nobility to protect Jim Ellison. It nearly killed Joel to know the kid was suffering a loss of that magnitude and had no one to fight back for him.

Joel knew it was some kind of conspiracy to protect Ellison and the department, but he had to wonder if it was worth the sacrifice Blair had made. Why was one man's life, career, worth more than another's? Why was it always Sandburg who had to do the giving in their odd friendship? Simon had tried to make it as right as he could…but…had they all forgotten how uncomfortable the kid was about ever using a gun? Hell, Sandburg didn't even like to look at guns, let alone hold or fire one. Could he do it? Could he compromise himself that much? At what cost to his soul? _Damn_ , Joel thought miserably as he gazed into Sandburg's too bright eyes. _Damn it all to hell._

Blair could read some of the older man's thoughts in his expressive eyes and he was again deeply touched by the understanding and concern there…and the unconditional acceptance. Simon and Megan knew the truth, but Joel and the others were taking him on faith. More faith and trust than anyone at the university had shown in him, he thought ruefully, despite all his years of work there. Sighing, he just shook his head and opened his arms, moving to hug Joel tightly. "Thanks, man," he murmured. "If I need to talk, you'll be the first one I call."

Joel hugged him back silently, then turned, having to brush at his own eyes as he nodded and moved away.

Which left Jim…and Naomi, who was standing awkwardly a few steps away, uncertain as she'd rarely been in her life of what to do or say. Blair gave her one of those quizzical looks that said, 'You can fool some of the people, maybe even all of these people…but you can't fool me,' as he went to her and hugged her tightly.

"Oh, Blair, I just want you to be happy," she whispered, her voice cracking a little with emotion. "I love you and I'm proud of you…I just want you to be happy."

"I know," he murmured in reply, then kissed her gently on the forehead. "Thank you…and, hey, don't worry. Like I told you back in the loft, everything has a way of working out the way it should. Have a little faith…"

"I've always had, and always will have, faith in you, my beautiful, wonderful son," she said quietly, reaching up to brush his hair back from his eyes as she tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "Just be true to yourself, all right? No matter what? Do what you want to do…and then be happy doing it."

Smiling, he hugged her again. "I will, I promise," he replied. Still holding her, he turned back to his roommate. "Well, Simon and Megan aren't the only ones who could still use some rest. You're looking a little peaked, my friend, and we should get you home."

Giving him a crooked grin in response, Jim said, "Sounds like a good idea, Chief." Stiffly, leaning heavily on his cane, the detective led the way to the elevators. Ellison had been shocked by the violence with which Sandburg had fought loose earlier, and the vehemence in his voice, the almost desperate tone, as Blair had ordered him to let go. Made thoughtful by Sandburg's reaction, he'd held his breath for a long moment after Simon had offered Blair time to think about the offer of a place at the Academy, scared to realize that such time might actually be needed. Blair's response had relieved him, but there were undertones here that left him uncomfortable. It had seemed like such a perfect solution. He'd been so certain that Blair would jump at the idea of going to the Academy. But, maybe they'd made too many assumptions…maybe they should have asked him what he wanted to do before bursting in and blowing him away with their own giddy joy to think he wouldn't be going anywhere, that he'd still be with them all.

 _Face it, Ellison_ , Jim castigated himself with no mercy, _**you** were just so damned glad to think **you** were going to keep the only partner **you'd** ever want that it never occurred to you to even consider what **Blair** might want to do with his life. Good work, Detective. Do you think you can screw up anything else today?_

Jim was also deeply bothered by Blair's comment to Joel that he'd overheard…that Sandburg would go to Joel 'first' if he needed to talk. What was that about? Why would he go to Joel? _I'm his friend, room-mate, partner…what would he say to Joel that he couldn't tell me first?_ Jim wondered, but he didn't like where those thoughts took him. _Maybe because I just keep letting him down…_

Sighing, Ellison punched the button to call the elevator, conscious of Blair and Naomi standing just behind him. Distracted by his own bleak thoughts, he now realized he'd missed some of their conversation. Naomi was saying something about leaving…that she'd packed after Blair had left that morning and had a flight out in a couple of hours. He could tell from Blair's voice in response that he was surprised, but Jim couldn't tell if the tone signaled sorrow or relief, or maybe a little of both.

"Mom, we haven't had time for much of a visit…" Blair offered, trying to dissuade her from leaving so abruptly.

"No, I know," she replied quietly, not meeting her son's eyes. "But, well, I feel it's time to go…"

"I hear you," Sandburg replied, their code for 'I don't agree, but I can understand and accept your feelings'.

The elevator door finally opened and they moved into it. For all that he wanted to encourage Naomi to stay for Blair's sake, Ellison couldn't force the words into his mouth. The simple truth of the matter was that he was glad she was going. Much as he'd come to like Naomi, even understand her to some extent, he couldn't deny his own anger toward her now. Maybe she had only intended to help her son, but her actions had almost torn them apart and had led to the ruin of Blair's career as an anthropologist. Swallowing, Ellison gazed at the floor as he struggled with his conflicting feelings about this complex woman. For all her sweetness and good intentions, Naomi seemed incapable of seeing the world through another's eyes, only able to see what she wanted to see, only able to do what she wanted to do. Blithely assuming it would all work out just fine. If she thought about it at all, which Ellison doubted. She wasn't selfish exactly, nor stupid…but she really didn't have a trace of empathy in her being. Not for the first time, Jim wondered how Blair had become the person he was.

They all went home together in Blair's car, since Jim couldn't drive yet with his leg so stiff and sore, and he and Naomi had come to the station in a cab. She kept up an inane chatter all the way…on and on about where she was going next, some place in Peru to visit some ruins. "Such _energy_ there, you can just _feel_ it…so healing and restoring," she gushed, happily forgetful of Jim and Blair's experiences there as she urged that they "should go there some time…it's _so_ beautiful." For once, Blair didn't correct her or remind her that that's where Jim had spent some really terrible months of his life, months that had forced his Sentinel abilities out of dormancy, or where they'd faced murderous drug manufacturers to save Simon and his son, Daryl. Blair understood that she was just talking out of nervousness, not really thinking, and he let her run on, nodding and making soothing sounds while Jim stared silently out of the window, just wishing they were home.

* * *

Jim closed the door to the loft with a relieved sigh. She was gone. Blair had insisted upon driving her to the airport, so now here he was, alone in a too quiet loft. Limping over to the sofa, he picked up the remote and idly clicked through the stations, but turned the television off when he realized he wasn't paying any attention to it. Leaning back on the cushions, he absently rubbed at his aching leg, then shifted so that his head was supported, closing his eyes as he sprawled there and sighed again, this time heavily.

So much had happened, so fast, he hadn't had time, really, to think about it all. Zeller had kept coming at them, almost killing Simon and Megan, and then shooting up the station…miraculously without killing anyone, but several people were still in the hospital. At least the bastard was dead, and by his own hand, stupidly shooting up the rope that had held him suspended above the alley in his insane effort to kill them. Served him right and he could rot in hell so far as Ellison was concerned.

Grimacing, rubbing a hand over his head and down to massage his neck, Jim realized he was only thinking about Zeller so that he could avoid thinking about what had happened because of Sandburg's paper. Unconsciously rubbing his hand over his mouth, he wished he could take back the hard words he'd used when he'd as much as accused Blair of having manipulated the situation and the resulting publicity to hike up the value of the book. He winced at the memory, knowing how wrong he'd been, knowing he'd known he was wrong at the time and had only been striking out because he was hurt and scared. Not just about the havoc it would all mean in his own life, but because it could well mean that he'd lose Blair…hell, with millions and a Nobel Prize, why would the kid keep hanging around Cascade? Just like always…when in doubt, take it out on Sandburg. Drive him away before he could leave of his own volition… because driving him away meant Ellison was still in control. What a laugh…like he'd ever been 'in control' as far as Sandburg was concerned.

His actions had been inexcusable…the way he'd consciously and deliberately given Sandburg the cold shoulder, acting like he couldn't stand to be near the kid, abiding his presence in the loft, and Naomi's, on sufferance with cold civility, once again claiming by word and action that irreparable damage had been done to the trust between them, to their friendship. "God, I'm a jerk sometimes," Ellison muttered to himself, wondering with a feeling akin to awe why Sandburg put up with him…stuck by him.

Especially at such a terrible cost.

Jim felt nausea roil in his gut as he again remembered watching that news briefing, watching Blair destroy himself and everything he'd ever dreamed of, for him. To protect him. To save their friendship. "Dammit," he muttered. It wasn't right. He shouldn't have accepted the gesture, however nobly and unselfishly it had been made. He should have set the record straight right away and let the pieces of his own world fall where they might. Sighing again, he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, head in his hands, sickened by the realization that he wasn't that strong. Oh, sure, there were other considerations. Cases that might be thrown out, bad guys who might go free as a result, and Simon's own career could have been blown to smithereens if his complicity in it all had come out…but Ellison _knew_ all that could be handled. They hadn't compromised any evidence, or the rights of any of their suspects, always taking great care to ensure that what he gathered would hold up in court…so he used his senses to find some of it, so what? Evidence was evidence. And Simon could probably fend off any criticism by rightfully claiming to have been protecting the privacy of one of his people.

Jim shook his head. Images of the media feeding frenzy over the past few days merged in his mind with the craziness of what had happened after he'd returned so exhausted from Peru, heralded as some kind of hero, knowing he was only a survivor…the _only_ survivor, still grieving and feeling guilty about comrades he couldn't save. Cameras with their piercing bright lights in his face, microphones shoved under his nose, questions, endless questions, that he couldn't answer. Knowing that something very odd had happened to his senses in the jungle, something that he couldn't explain or control and which, frankly had frightened him very badly, had left him tongue-tied and overwhelmed. He'd just wanted so _badly_ for it all to end and to be left in peace. The experiences of the last few days only showed too clearly that it would happen all over again, only this time it would be worse…he'd be seen as some kind of freak.

He just could not bear that, could not face that alone, not when Sandburg upped and left, as he would have inevitably done, to a life of fame and glory.

He knew it.

And he hated himself for it.

The shrill ring of the phone cut into his dismal thoughts, causing his head to jerk up as he lumbered off the sofa and hobbled his way across the room.

"Hello," he responded, rubbing his eyes.

"Jimmy?" his father's voice came, a little tentative, uncertain. "I was wondering how you're doing…."

"Hi, Dad," Ellison replied, hitching one of the kitchen chairs over so that he could sit while they talked. "I'm okay…leg's a bit stiff, but it'll be fine. Blair's just taken his mother to the airport…"

"Ah…" his father replied awkwardly. "Yes, well, Naomi always seems to be on her way somewhere, at least from the little you've told me about her."

"Yeah, that's true enough," Jim replied, wishing he could think of something to say to fill the sudden silence between them.

But, his father rallied, asking, "How's Blair? I mean…well, I saw the press conference…"

Ellison paused, wondering how to answer. Finally, he sighed, "I don't know, to tell you the truth. We haven't had any time to talk about it."

"It's not right, Jimmy," his father interjected, his voice strong now and surprisingly gruff. "From what I can piece together from all this, Blair had nothing to do with that paper being released. He hadn't submitted it for his dissertation, and whether he intended to or not, that isn't the point. The university had no right to expel him the way they did. I read some self-righteous statement in the paper that they'd 'terminated' their association with him because 'his behaviour and the fraud he'd perpetrated' made his continued presence 'untenable'. Made me want to punch somebody."

Jim smiled briefly despite himself at his father's vehement defence of his friend. William Ellison hadn't always been one of Sandburg's fans, but they'd gotten to know one another a little better after his father had been almost killed and Sandburg's charm had worked its usual magic. And, he realized then, his father was one of the very few people in the world who actually knew the truth behind Blair's claim of being a fraud, knew Blair had sacrificed himself to protect his son. Jim frowned as he thought about his father's words and he had to agree that the university might have acted precipitously. "You're right," he said then. "But, I'm not sure what can be done about it."

"I'm not sure, either…but, you know, Jimmy, I think I might have a chat with my contacts on the university's Board of Trustees, maybe have one of my lawyers take a look at the situation," Ellison Sr. offered, then hesitated again, "Unless you think it's none of my business…."

"Uh, no, Dad, I think that's a good idea," Jim replied, wishing he'd thought of it himself. "Can't hurt to see if something can be salvaged from this mess…he should have the right to get his Ph.D. Blair…well," he continued quietly, "Blair has the chance to enter the Police Academy in a couple of weeks, but to be honest, I'm not sure if that's really what he wants."

"Blair…a police officer?" the elder Ellison exclaimed, astonished. William Ellison could not, for the life of him, reconcile the free-spirited, thoughtful and sensitive man he knew Blair Sandburg to be with the image he held of the police. But, suddenly aware of the silence on the other end of the line, understanding what being a 'cop' meant to his son and how much Jim would want Blair to be his partner officially, he continued quickly if still uncertainly, "Not that he wouldn't make a great cop, but I never would have pictured him in a uniform…with a gun."

"No…I know what you mean," Jim replied thoughtfully. He picked up the sound of Blair's steps out in the hall at that moment, saying hurriedly, "Look, Dad, Blair's just gotten home. Let me know how your enquiries go, okay?"

"You got it, Jimmy…and give Blair my regards," Ellison replied as he terminated the call.

Jim was just hanging up when the door opened and Blair eased into the apartment. With a sharp ache, Ellison couldn't help but see how totally wasted the kid looked, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion, his shoulders slumped, moving as if he was almost too weary to put one foot in front of the other. Looking up, Blair caught the concern in Jim's eyes and shrugged self-consciously as he pulled off his jacket and hung it carefully on the hook.

"Dad just called…said to say 'hello'," Jim said as he limped back toward the sofa.

"Oh yeah?" Sandburg replied with the shadow of a smile. "How's he doing?"

"He's…well, he's angry about how the university treated you," Jim replied as he sank down on the sofa, his eyes on Blair's face.

"Oh," Sandburg replied, startled, then embarrassed. "Well, they didn't really have much choice…I mean, I admitted on television for all the world to see that I'm a fraud…"

" _Don't say that!_ " Ellison snapped, unable to bear it. "Don't _ever_ say that, not to me."

Blair's eyes narrowed at the outburst, then his head dropped as he shook it briefly before looking back up. Moving into the living area, he sat down on the other sofa as he said quietly, "Hey…it's alright, man. I knew what I was doing…"

"It's _not_ alright," Jim replied, frustration with it all clear in his voice and his expression. For a moment, he wondered whether to share his father's idea that maybe something could be done, then decided to keep the information to himself. Sandburg would just decline the help, whether he wanted it or not, believing that his troubles were all his own and shouldn't be a worry to anyone else. Besides, he'd hate to get the kid's hopes up only to have them shattered. Looking away, he murmured, "Chief, what you did was…well, there aren't the words, not ones I know anyway, to tell you what it meant to me…I'm sorry. I never expected, never wanted you to lose it all."

"I didn't 'lose it all', Jim," Blair replied huskily, his throat suddenly tight. "I did what was right…what was necessary, and I'd do it again." Sighing, he sank back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He was way too tired to have this conversation right now…wasn't sure he ever wanted to have it. It was done. Now he had to pick up the pieces of his life and get on with living.

"You don't really want to be a cop, do you, Chief?" Jim asked softly, staring out the patio doors into the darkness, dreading the response.

"Hmm?" Blair murmured, then rubbed his temples. The damned headache wouldn't seem to go away. It had been days now, and it just wouldn't quit. Pushing himself up straighter, he bit his lip before he answered, wanting to get it right. "To be honest? I don't know, man. I mean…I never even considered that option before today. And…well, it scares me, if you want to know the truth. But, I do know that I want to be your partner…and since the PD lifted my observer pass right after the press conference, this seems like the only way to…to do what I want to do."

"Scares you? Why would it scare you? God, Chief, I've already told you you're the best cop I know, that I've ever known. This would just make it official," Jim exclaimed, turning back to face his friend, and was immediately caught by the stark look on Blair's face.

Sandburg closed his eyes and turned his head away, only too aware that Jim didn't get it, never had… couldn't credit that a career in academia could possibly rank with something as immediate and vital as law enforcement. In Jim's mind it was all so simple now, and even preferable. There was no way to explain how much it hurt to lose everything he'd ever dreamed of without burdening Jim with the pain of that loss.

"It's about having to carry a gun, isn't it?" Jim asked, certain that this was the real problem.

"It's not _carrying_ the gun that bothers me, man…it's knowing that someday I'll have to _use_ it that gives me the shakes," Blair clarified, shaking his head with weary resignation. "But…I've been thinking about it. And, well, I have to face that, don't I? I mean, I know you and the others hate it when you have to…to take somebody down, but it's about serving and protecting the innocent, right? About doing what you have to do, to do what's right? Somebody's got to do it, or the bad guys would just take over…and that would be hell on earth. So…I can do this, Jim…I can do this…." The words came out like a mantra, as if Blair was still trying to convince himself, even more than he was trying to convince Ellison.

Jim hadn't missed the fact that Sandburg hadn't been able to use the word 'kill'. Frowning, he wondered if Blair ever could kill someone and that worried him deeply. He felt something twist deep inside, and sadness welled up within him at the prospect of Blair having to know what ending another life felt like. Swallowing, he figured Sandburg would do whatever was needed to save someone else's life…but his own? Would he be able to kill in self-defence? Ellison wasn't at all sure his friend would be able to do that…and that could cost Blair his life, which would be infinitely worse in his humble opinion than the termination of some monster on two legs who preyed upon the weak and innocent. But, he could see that now was not the time for that particular discussion. Shifting a little on the sofa to ease his leg, he asked, "Why did you push me away like you did at the station today?"

Jerked from his thoughts about having to actually fire a gun someday, Blair looked confused for a moment as he tried to remember what Jim was talking about, and then he flushed in embarrassment. "Oh…that…"

"Yeah, 'that'. You almost knocked me over, Chief. Took me by surprise," Jim replied, trying to sound nonchalant but bothered by the memory.

Looking away, his fingers beating a nervous tattoo on the sofa until he stood and paced, Blair tried to find the words to explain. "I was, like _totally_ blown away by Simon's offer…I couldn't take it in. I mean, I couldn't think, man…couldn't say anything except that I wouldn't cut my hair…I won't have to, will I?" he asked with a sudden look of dread, his eyes wide with the imagined horror of it all.

"You're changing the subject, Sandburg," Jim replied, not rising to the transparent attempt to redirect the conversation.

"Yeah, right," Blair replied, turning away to resume his restless pacing as he mumbled, "Doesn't matter, anyway, I guess. It'll grow back."

"Sandburg…if you don't want to talk about it…" Jim offered, not knowing whether to be concerned or frustrated with Blair's evident reluctance to share what he'd been feeling.

"No…it's just, well…I just reacted, Jim. I mean, I'd gone there to, I don't know, sorta say good-bye to the place, and turn in my pass…and I didn't have a clue what I was going to do now…now that I'd blown away what had passed as my career ambitions for the last ten years…and then I get this incredible offer…and then you were treating me like some kid in front of them all and I wondered how any of them could have _any_ respect for me…how _anybody_ could ever again have any respect for me…and I just lost it, man. I'm sorry…I know you didn't mean anything by it, that it was just fun…but, sometimes…sometimes I just wish everybody wouldn't treat me like I'm a child. I'm almost thirty, Jim…I'm not a kid anymore…"

No, he wasn't a kid anymore. What he'd endured in the last few months would age any man. Studying him, Jim despaired at the weariness he could see in Blair's eyes…at the loss of the innocence that had covered him like a mantle when they'd first met, and which had seemed able to survive any trauma to safeguard the enthusiasm and simple sheer joy in life that was so intrinsic to Sandburg's nature…any trauma but this last one. A man didn't blow up his life and not bear the scars of the loss deep within his soul.

"I'm sorry, Chief…I get carried away sometimes, I guess," Jim sighed, understanding now why Blair had acted the way he had. Though he hadn't talked much about it, Ellison knew Sandburg was being shunned like some kind of pariah by everyone he knew at the university. After having been respected as a 'wunderkind' for years by the other members of his academic circle and by his former students as a brilliant and impassioned teacher, that had to hurt very badly…God, what an understatement. It had to just about break the kid's heart. "I was just so damned glad to think you were going to be my partner, that it was all going to be okay, at least from my perspective…well, I didn't think."

Blair waved off the apology as he sat back down. "I know, Jim…don't worry about it, okay?"

Ellison nodded, but then continued soberly, "I know you're a grown-up, Sandburg…it's just, sometimes, I don't know…I forget." Hell, the kid had looked so cute and cocky standing there claiming there was no way he was going to cut that crazy hair, Jim just hadn't been able to resist giving him a hard time. But, now he realized he'd also just so desperately wanted to return to their light-hearted, teasing friendship… he'd just wanted everything to be back to normal. Bitterly, he thought, _And I accuse Naomi of lacking empathy…_

Sandburg felt his heart twist at the sight of the sorrow and regret that were etched on Ellison's face, and he couldn't stand it. None of this was Jim's fault…not any of it. Sandburg's mother had acted out of love, and so, Blair knew, had he when he'd tossed his career down the tubes. Jim had just been caught in something that could have hurt him terribly but over which he'd had no control. He shouldn't be suffering now, shouldn't feel a guilt that wasn't his to bear. Desperate to lighten the mood, Blair grinned as he shook his curls. "I know…it's the hair, isn't it?" he asked impishly. "And the fact that I was a perpetual student. Well…I'm not a student anymore…or at least I won't be when I graduate from the Academy… and maybe when my hair's short, I'll look more mature, wiser, more stable, solid… _old_ , like _you_ , man."

Rising to the bait, feigning umbrage, growling he wasn't ' _that_ old', Jim threw a pillow at Blair in response to the teasing and was relieved to hear a faint giggle in response. _It'll be all right_ , Ellison told himself, grabbing hold of that giggle like a parched man guzzles water. He wanted the reassurance Blair was offering him, wanted to believe the smile, the teasing. Needed to believe it. _We'll find a way to make it all work out_ , he thought with determined passion.

Because it had to work.

Because Jim just couldn't imagine going back to those cold, lonely days and nights of his life before Sandburg had blasted his way into his home and his heart.

It just _had_ to work. There weren't any other choices…no other options to _guarantee_ Sandburg would always be a part of his life.

* * *

Once he'd chased the worry from Jim's eyes, Blair struggled back to his feet, admitting that he really was wasted and just wanted to sleep. He took the opportunity to point out that Ellison was still recovering from his injury, looked a little pale around the edges and should probably also have an early night.

"Nag, nag, nag," Jim muttered, but he got up nevertheless and headed to the stairs to turn in for the night. Blair was right; he was exhausted…they both were.

Blair watched his friend navigate the stairs awkwardly, poised to help if needed, only turning off the lights once Jim had arrived safely on the upper level. Heading into his own room, he softly shut the door and kicked off his shoes, then dropped fully clothed onto the bed. Thoughts whirled in his mind and his head pounded with the stress-induced headache. Briefly, he considered getting up again, to make himself a cup of chamomile tea, but decided it was too much effort.

A cop.

He was going to be a cop.

Blair couldn't decide what he thought about it all. Part of him was excited by the prospect…it gave him a goal, a purpose when he sorely needed one having been feeling desperately lost and unable to imagine any kind of concrete future. He respected Jim, and everyone else in the Major Crimes Unit. It gave him a burst of pride to know they wanted him for who he was, that they still trusted him and were eager to work with him regardless of the fiasco with the dissertation. He also knew first hand how important that work was, how much good they did, quietly, without fanfare, regardless of the risks because they were committed to the protection of the people in this city, committed to the law. Blair knew he could take a great deal of pride in being a member of that team for real, not just as a hanger-on. Knew he could make a difference in people's lives.

But, it scared the wits out of him to think about drawing a gun with the distinct possibility of having to use it. Firing a weapon was always _the_ last resort, he knew that. And, if he opted for a career in the ranks, on patrol, the odds were good he might never have to use a gun. But, Major Crimes was different. They went up against some seriously scary psychos and even terrorists, let alone the run-of-the-mill gangsters, street gangs, gunrunners and drug smugglers…he knew only too well the odds of likely having to shoot someone someday if he worked there. There was no 'if' or 'maybe' about it…it was a sure thing…inevitable. The only questions were 'when' and 'how soon'?

But, he _had_ to work in Major Crimes…because that's where Jim worked. And the whole point was to be Jim's partner. So, he'd have to deal with it. Taking a deep breath, he whispered aloud unconsciously, "I have to deal with this…get over it. I have to. I don't have a choice."

Rolling onto his side with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest and his knees drawn up, he tried to push the thoughts away. If he was going to be a cop, and he'd decided there didn't seem to be any other realistic option open to him that would allow him to continue supporting Jim, there was no way he'd ever not do his job or put someone else's life at risk and that was that. Period. No question, no debate, no doubt. Decision made, Blair promised himself he'd just have to work at getting to be a good enough marksman that, given the chance, he wouldn't have to shoot to kill, just to disable and disarm. It was the best compromise he could imagine and the only way he could live with the choices he was making.

But, when he tried to push away the immediate issues of shifting his career path from anthropology to law enforcement, he immediately came up against the vast open wound of his lost career. His breath hitched as he blinked hard, fighting the overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to swamp him. God, he'd loved teaching, seeing eyes brighten with understanding and curiosity, getting others to feel the same intrigue he did in trying to really grasp what made societies tick, why people in communities made the choices they did…their beliefs and lifestyles, what they worshipped and held sacred. It was his love of anthropology that had led him to Burton…and to the idea that Sentinels not only existed but could still exist. It had been the passion that had driven his life, fueled his dreams…and it was over, irretrievably, in an instant. Lost. Forever.

"Stop it," he ordered himself sharply. Thoughts like that only led to depression and misery. It _wasn't_ over. He'd found his Sentinel and had made his choice to protect that Sentinel, for all sorts of reasons. To bolster his sense of the rightness of his actions, he reviewed those reasons, counting them off in his head.

First, as an anthropologist, he had a professional responsibility to protect his 'source' regardless of the costs to himself. It was about ethical behaviour and integrity.

Second, as a member of Simon's team, he had a responsibility to not let their work be compromised because of something some grad student had written after Simon had been good enough to get him the approval to act as a civilian observer. The media craziness had compromised their efforts to capture Zeller, and because of that, Simon and Megan had almost been killed, and at the time others were still at risk. It was about his responsibility to protect the community, to safeguard them and ensure they could have the protection they expected from, and deserved of, the police.

Third, he had a responsibility to protect Simon, who shared this secret and who could have his own career threatened if his complicity in protecting Jim's privacy and deliberate failure to fully inform his superiors was discovered. Oh, sure, the argument that he'd acted within the appropriate bounds of supervisory discretion could be argued, and Simon would no doubt survive. But, Blair had spent almost four years within the law enforcement community, knew their petty rivalries and jealousies were not unlike those he'd observed at the university and in countless other cultures. Simon's supervisors would have found a way to make him pay for leaving them hanging in the wind when the news broke. No way did Simon deserve that. No way. Not for the only crime of having stood by a friend. Blair couldn't do that to anyone, least of all a man he respected. It was about loyalty…and friendship.

Fourth, Blair wouldn't _ever_ do anything to hurt Jim Ellison, period, not intentionally, not ever. His best friend's life would have been turned inside out, and Jim, so intensely private, would have been badly hurt, even traumatized, by all the media attention…and, worse could happen. Some psycho, or God forbid, Brackett, could decide to go after him, and use everything Blair knew, everything he'd written in that book, against Jim…and no way would Blair ever be able to live with Jim being hurt or killed because of something he'd written. It was about love.

The loss of the offered millions and the prospect of a Nobel Prize didn't even occur to him. Fame and fortune had never been the driving motivations of his life. Knowledge, making a difference, solving puzzles, helping people, learning, teaching, friends…having a place to call 'home'. Those were the things that mattered to Blair Sandburg, and those things he still had. Well, maybe not the 'teaching', he thought with deep regret as he wondered what his students thought about all that had happened, profoundly sorry to have them feel he'd somehow betrayed them by betraying the ethical principles he'd always told them were so important, so crucial to their search for understanding.

For a moment, Blair wondered again at his naiveté at having written the paper in the first place. What had he thought he would do with it? Oh, it wasn't unheard of to have a closed defence, open only to those who would make the decision on his doctorate, the research buried for years. At least it would exist, and someday the world could know that the marvel that was Jim Ellison had truly existed, and have hope that others like Jim were out there, keeping watch. And, if there were others, maybe they'd find some value and personal hope in his paper, understand themselves better, feel less 'odd'. Ruefully, he knew this was what he had hoped to achieve.

But, if he hadn't been able to win an agreement from his advisor to support such a measure, he'd had his back up paper ready. 'The Thin Blue Line' he'd called it, grinning as he'd typed out the title, remembering the first time he'd met Simon. 'The line that separates our guardians from the rest of society has led to the creation of a distinct and vigorous subculture within the law enforcement community, providing a milieu of safety and acceptance for those who must walk in darkness that the rest of us might sleep.' That had been the first line, and it was more than two hundred pages long, the final draft complete for some time now. Not that it would be needed anymore, either. And he really regretted that fact. The people he had come to know deserved to be understood and respected for what they were, what they gave everyday of their lives to protect others. He hadn't submitted it because it would have signaled an end to the charade that allowed him his observer status at the PD. But, he felt badly now for having delayed, because _now_ it was too late. Pondering that, he wondered if maybe, someday, he could get that paper published, or parts of it anyway, maybe in a police journal. Then maybe something worthwhile could be salvaged from the wreck of his academic career.

Sighing, he rolled and punched his pillow, thumping his head back down upon it. _If only_ , he thought, and then paused. _If only_ , wasn't worth thinking about. The Fates evidently had a different pattern in mind for his life than he had had and who was he to argue with them? After all, if he _had_ gotten his doctorate, what then? Had he really ever thought he'd pursue a full time academic career after he'd met Jim and gotten so involved in his friend's life? His first duty was to the Sentinel as his Guide. Besides, he suspected very strongly that he didn't have any choice. He figured that, however weird it might be, he was as genetically programmed with the drive to be his Sentinel's protective Guide as Jim was genetically designed to be a Sentinel to protect his tribe. In any case, his first desire was to always be there to back Jim up, as his friend. And that's what he was going to do. So…maybe he should stop feeling so bad about what he'd given up and start feeling good about what he still had.

Duty, drive and desire aligned, he was finally able to let the thoughts drift away as he settled into a dreamless sleep.

Upstairs, attuned to the restlessness of his best friend, hearing the unconscious whispers and able to guess the thoughts that provoked them, Jim stared into the darkness, wishing he could turn back time. Finally, when his senses told him Blair had finally settled into sleep, he let himself relax as well, allowing the darkness to overcome him, hoping it would not hold haunting dreams of what had been or, worse, of what might yet be.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Blair dove into research, his first instinct whenever encountering a new challenge. He hit the public library and when he couldn't get the texts he wanted there, he badgered Jim into borrowing books on law enforcement and detective work from the department that he wouldn't have personal access to again until he was at the Academy, and then peppered his roommate with questions as he ploughed through the heavy material. Jim tried to tell him to relax, that there was plenty of time to get into all that stuff once Blair was at the Academy, but finally gave up and cheerfully at first, then ever so patiently after the first few days, answered the questions put to him. It was a relief to be able to go back to work, even if it was just desk duty, to get a break from the endless stream of questions and more questions from his intense and dedicated friend.

Though he'd hesitated to do so, leery of seeming to seek more 'special consideration', Blair finally did decide to ask Simon privately if there was any way to avoid having to lose the hair. It was ridiculous, he knew, to want so badly to hold onto the unconventional curls…but it wasn't the hair itself that he wanted to hold onto, but something of himself, some visible symbol of what he'd been before he'd made his decision to become one with the thin blue line. When he looked in the mirror, he wanted to see himself, not some stranger in a uniform heading out to face a life he'd never have envisioned for himself. So, he swallowed his distaste of asking for special intercession with a grimace, straightened his shoulders and walked into the restaurant where he'd asked Simon to meet him for lunch.

The captain of the Major Crimes Unit was already there, staring sightlessly at the menu as he wondered why Sandburg had asked for this private meeting, specifically indicating that he wanted to see Simon _alone_ , which could only mean that he didn't want Ellison to know anything about it. Chewing on his lip, he sincerely hoped the former grad student hadn't changed his mind about going to the Academy.

"Hey, Simon…thanks for agreeing to see me," Blair said as he slid into the booth opposite Simon in the trendy vegetarian restaurant Sandburg had suggested.

"Sandburg," Simon acknowledged with a nod. Then, to avoid what he feared was the purpose of this meeting, he pointed irritably at the menu as he continued, "Could you decipher this for me…I have no idea what kind of food this place serves, or what 'Triton's Folly', 'Demeter's Feast' or 'Ambrosia' might possibly be. Couldn't you have suggested something that serves good, old fashioned meat and potatoes?"

"Just watching out for your cholesterol, Simon," Blair soothed with an impish grin as he picked up his own copy of the menu. "Somebody's got to make sure my boss stays healthy."

Sandburg was surprised when Simon immediately blew out an obvious breath of relief and seemed to visibly relax at his words. In response to the unspoken question signaled by his quirking brow and expression of sudden confusion, Simon smiled softly as he explained, "I was afraid you invited me here to tell me you'd changed your mind about becoming a cop. I'm glad to know I was wrong."

"Oh!" Blair exclaimed as understanding bloomed in his eyes, and then he blushed as he looked hurriedly back down at the menu, touched that Simon had been worried that he might not be joining the Major Crimes Unit. "No," he murmured, shaking his head, "that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I'm going to the Academy. You can count on that. It was something else…"

Picking a fresh, still warm multigrain roll from the basket the server had placed on the table with two glasses of water when he'd first arrived, Simon broke it open as he replied, "Alright, you wanted to talk…so talk."

The server arrived again just then, so Blair took a moment to order, for both of them as it turned out when Simon looked helplessly at the menu and then told Sandburg to just order something the kid knew he would like. When the attractive young woman turned away, Blair toyed with the cutlery for a moment, fidgeting as he wondered if this was such a good idea.

"Sandburg, whatever it is, spit it out," Banks ordered, impatient as ever with hesitant delays and obfuscations.

"Yeah, okay," Blair replied, taking a deep breath as he looked up into Simon's eyes, his own projecting his mingled emotions of hope and embarrassment. "Simon, I've been thinking…"

"Lord help me," Simon muttered, but there was a twinkle buried deep in his dark eyes.

The soft comment surprised a smile from Blair and the familiar teasing helped him to relax. Grateful, he pushed on, "It's about my…hair." Pausing for a moment, he checked to see if there was any reaction.

Banks narrowed his eyes a little, beginning to suspect where this was going. Unconsciously, his shoulders straightened a little as his lips thinned, waiting for it. Without realizing it, he had already begun to shake his head…no way could Blair expect to save those ridiculous curls. The police academy was in many respects a paramilitary establishment and recruits, cadets, had to conform to a certain standard. It was part of learning the discipline required in their future careers.

Seeing the incipient signs of refusal, Blair rushed on, "Just give me a minute, here, okay? Before you say 'no'? It would be different if I was going to follow the established pattern of being a uniformed patrolman, but I'm not, right? You're going to bring me straight into Major Crimes to work with Jim…I mean, that's the whole idea, that I be his partner? Well…we don't work in uniform there…and we do a fair amount of undercover work. So, my hair could be an asset." Raising his hands for emphasis, a quizzical expression on his face, Sandburg asked, "I ask you, do I look like a cop to you?"

Simon's head was still shaking in the negative as he studied Sandburg, but now it was for a whole different reason. "No, Sandburg," he replied without a trace of a smile, "you _don't_ look like a cop, not unless I count the guys in Vice or Narcotics, and that's your point, isn't it?"

"Yep, that's it, _exactly_ ," Blair confirmed as he sat back, pleased that Simon seemed to be willing to at least consider the idea.

Thoughtfully, Banks stared blindly out of the window beside them, his fingertips lightly tapping the table as he pondered Blair's request. At any given time, there were any number of cases on his desk that required some undercover work and Sandburg might be just the wild card he needed. The kid made a good point. No one would look at that hair and those earnest eyes, or that boyish face and think 'cop'. It would be virtually unheard of for someone to be exempted from the rigorous standards of the Academy, but then Sandburg didn't seem to fit any of the usual categories. Never had, come to that. The kid was…unique. Unbidden, another thought slipped into the forefront of his mind.

"You didn't want Ellison here because you don't want him hearing you volunteer for what are usually dangerous and uncontrollable assignments, right?" he asked, turning his astute gaze back on the younger man.

Looking a little chagrined to have been so transparent, Blair nodded as he replied, "Yeah, you got it, man. I don't think he's quite wrapped his head around what all this means yet. I mean…I think in the back of his mind, he still thinks he'll be able to order me to 'Stay in the truck, Chief!'" His voice had deepened as he mimicked his partner's tones and cadence.

Giving him a sardonic half smile, Simon agreed, "I suspect you're right about that. The first time you move out with a gun in your hand is going to shock the hell out of him."

"He won't be the only one," Blair muttered, looking away briefly, but then he gave himself a visible shake and turned back to Simon. "So…what about the hair?"

"Not so fast, Sandburg," Simon replied, made thoughtful by Blair's response to the idea of holding a gun. "You _have_ come to terms with the fact you'll have to use a weapon someday, right?"

Blowing out a long breath, Blair nodded, his face somber, his eyes deadly serious. "Yes, Simon," he replied firmly, "I have. I couldn't go to the Academy if I had any doubts about that. Lives will depend on me doing my job…you don't have to worry about me screwing that up. I promise you."

Equally sober, Simon nodded in acceptance of the vow. "I believe you," he said simply as he reflected that for all the kid looked like a refugee from 'Hair', there were few men he knew who were as committed or responsible in their choices and actions. When he thought about the choice Blair had made to protect Jim Ellison's secret, he amended his thought…there was no one he knew who was more committed, who would give more, or even as much, as this man had done to do what was right.

Grateful, relieved, Blair blinked and looked away from the intensity of Simon's gaze. Silence fell between them as the server brought their food and set it before them. Blair pushed his hair back behind his ears, then picked up his soupspoon. Knowing Simon enjoyed spicy food, he'd ordered them gazpacho to be followed by the 'Demeter's Feast' Greek salad plate.

"So, not to be pushy," he resumed as he dipped the spoon in his bowl.

"'Pushy', Sandburg, you?" Simon teased as he started in on his own lunch. "Never."

"C'mon, Simon…don't keep me in suspense, man," Blair cajoled. "Do you think there's any way around the rules about this hair business?"

Idly stirring his own soup, Simon sighed. Finally, he nodded, as he made his decision. "Alright, you make a good point. I'll see what I can do," he replied. At the look of naked relief on the kid's face, Simon held up his hands as he said hurriedly, "Now…don't get your hopes too high. I don't make these decisions. I can only make a request, that for the good of the department and in expectation of the duties you will be assigned, that you be allowed a dispensation with respect to the regulation haircut."

"I know, I know," Blair answered, his head bobbing in understanding. But, his face lit with that smile that could light the whole world let alone warm a cynical police captain's heart as he said, "Thanks, Simon…I really appreciate this."

Banks closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly, feeling the depth of gratitude he read in Sandburg's eyes was out of all proportion to what he'd agreed to do. And that was when he saw past the arguments Sandburg had made to keep the hair and wondered why it was so important to the kid. Hair grew back, after all. Cutting it shouldn't have been such a big deal. Returning Sandburg's gaze, with a look that suggested he expected an answer, he asked, "All right, now that you've manipulated me into doing what you want, and pointed out why it's good for the department, would you care to tell me why it's so important to you? It's only hair, Sandburg…it's not like the hair is who you are."

Taken aback by Simon's insight, not having expected the question, Blair looked away and swallowed. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, as he looked back and replied softly, "I know it's just hair, and that it would grow back. It's just that…there're so many changes in my life, you know? I'm not…what I was, who I was…for so long. Not going to be what I expected to be someday. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sorry to be going to the Academy. I'm grateful for the opportunity. But…I never expected to be a cop…I guess I just want to keep something that's 'me'. Crazy, I guess…."

"No, Sandburg, it's not crazy," Simon replied gently, compassion in his eyes. "What you did is…well, pretty damned amazing. Not to mention incredibly noble. You have a right to want to hold onto some symbol of the man you were before…well before everything went to hell in a handbasket."

Blair blushed again and looked away, feeling a lump in his throat at Simon's words and the look of profound understanding and respect in the older man's eyes. "Thanks, Simon," he murmured, "for understanding."

"Oh, I understand alright, but listen to me, Sandburg," the captain went on, his voice stern, needing to be heard clearly. "I meant what I said that the hair isn't you. Whether or not we get this dispensation, you don't need those locks to be Blair Sandburg. Who you are is defined by your intellect, your heart and your soul, by the choices and decisions you make, the actions you take…not by what anyone, _including you_ , sees on the outside in terms of something as superficial as the style you wear your hair. Remember that."

Taking a deep breath, Blair nodded as he looked back at his Captain. "I'll remember, sir, thank you," he promised.

"See that you do…I can't say I'm personally all that fond of the hair. But, I have come to very much appreciate the man underneath all those curls," Simon replied, his voice a little rough, as he surprised himself with that admission. It wasn't his style to be so forthcoming or free with his sentiments about his people.

Blair grinned impishly as he replied, "I know what you mean…I'm not fond of the cigars, but I love you, too, Simon."

"That's 'Captain' to you, Sandburg," Simon replied with a withering glare, only half kidding.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Blair snapped back with parade ground dignity, then ruined the effect with a snicker as he picked up his spoon and resumed his lunch. Relieved that his request had been accepted, warmed by Simon's friendship and touched by the older man's words, he suddenly found he felt really hungry.

As their lunch progressed, they talked easily about the curriculum at the Academy and how Blair was preparing himself for the courses he'd face. More relaxed, Blair was able to bring himself to ask the question he'd been wondering about ever since Simon had made him this incredible offer. "Simon," he asked, "can I ask how you got _anybody_ to agree to me attending the Academy, let alone be slated for a detective position on your team? I'm mean, a community that prides itself on representing truth and justice is an odd place to find a self-proclaimed liar and fraud."

Caught off-guard by the question, Simon looked away, staring out of the window as he thought about just saying he'd 'handled it' and letting it go at that. But, frowning at how easily Sandburg referred to himself as a 'liar and fraud' made him reconsider. Looking back at Blair, he thought how wrong it was…and how much right Blair had to know about the conversations that had occurred about him. Taking a breath, Simon said, "Sandburg, it is _all_ about 'truth' and 'justice'. When I heard about the sacrifice you had made, there was nothing I could do to set the record straight in the public forum. But, within the department, there was a lot I could, and did, say." Looking away from those intense blue eyes, the captain hoped what he was about to say wouldn't be seen by Sandburg as a fundamental violation of trust.

Sighing, he went on, "I decided it was time for me to tell the truth to my superiors about Jim's senses. And that everything you had said in that paper was true. They were somewhat surprised to hear all that, let me assure you."

"I'll bet they were," Blair murmured, blowing out a silent breath, his brows arching as he considered the implications. "Does Jim know about this?"

"Not yet," Simon replied with a long-suffering sigh, too able to picture how that conversation would go. "But, I'll tell him later today, as I'm telling _you_ now, you don't need to worry that Jim will be in _any_ way compromised by this. My superiors have the same fundamental responsibility to protect his privacy, as a member of the force, as I do. Anyway, I assured them that I'd checked the precedents and verified that the legal rights of citizens would not be compromised by the use of his talents…" Simon broke off at the look of surprise on Blair's face. "What," he continued, "did you think you were the _only_ one borrowing books from the departmental library to do the research to be absolutely certain that what we were doing was legally and ethically valid?"

Blair just kept his mouth closed and shook his head. If he _had_ thought that, Simon's revelation had certainly disabused him of any such narrow assumptions.

"Anyway," the captain continued, "I explained to them that your real role was to work with Jim, that you were doing research with him to understand and control his senses. I also told them that, in my opinion, you had been, and continue to be, essential for him to function at peak effectiveness. And, that's the 'truth' part of it, Sandburg."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair breathed, but Simon held up his hand.

"I'm not finished," he said. "There's still the 'justice' part that needs to be addressed. What you did took a lot of guts, Sandburg…and a whole lot of integrity," Simon said, respect burning in his eyes. "I couldn't replace what you had sacrificed for Jim, for the department, and, yes, I know, even for me. But, I was damned if I wasn't going to offer you something to approximate what you had so nobly given up without hesitation…a career in law enforcement if you wanted one. I pointed out to the Chief and the Commissioner that you had made a very substantial contribution to our team, not just as a support to Jim, but through your brilliant, insightful, creatively intuitive and unorthodox perspectives…and I had the arrest records to back that up. I _want_ you on my team. Further, I pointed out that since you had compromised your whole future, impugning your academic integrity, not to mention your own _personal_ credibility, to protect the department and to get the media out of our face to let us do our jobs, we owed you…big time. When they had the whole picture, they couldn't help but agree with me. So, pressure was brought to bear on the Academy." It hadn't been quite as easy as that, but Sandburg didn't need to know the gory details.

"Pressure?" Blair repeated, concerned and uncomfortable with that idea.

Simon hesitated again, biting his lip, wishing he could say that he'd been able to remove all the hurdles from Sandburg's path, but he couldn't. "Sandburg, the people at the Academy don't know any of this. And, they no doubt resent the pressure and wonder what makes you so special. But…they're cops. Good cops. They know that nothing, least of all what the media presents as fact, is all that it seems on the surface. I'm hoping they'll give you a chance to show them what you can do…that they'll give you a fair shake. I'm sorry, it was the best that I could do."

"Sorry?" Blair stammered. "My God, Simon…you just keep blowing me away, man." Pausing for a moment, speechless at what this truly honourable man had done for him, Blair could only shake his head in awe…and overwhelming gratitude. Taking a breath, he said quietly, his voice shaking with sincerity, "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you for this, Captain. But, I promise you, I won't ever let you down."

"You never have, Blair," Simon replied. "You never have." Pausing before he returned his attention to his salad, he stated simply, "Nor do you owe anybody anything for this. It was about 'truth' and 'justice', period."

* * *

True to his word, Simon bit the bullet as soon as he returned to his office, calling to Ellison to follow him as he walked by. Once they had reached his office, he closed the door as he motioned Jim to a seat.

Wondering what his superior wanted to discuss, Jim felt a vague disquiet as the silence stretched between them while Simon stared out the office window, obviously uncomfortable.

Finally, with a sigh, Banks turned to face Jim as he gave it to him straight. "There's something you need to know. When I learned what Sandburg had said during his press conference, I decided that the time had come to set the record straight, at least as far as I am able. I've told the Chief and the Commissioner about your senses."

"What?" Jim exclaimed, stunned. Consternation gave way to a reflexive anger that Simon had betrayed his trust.

Seeing the expression hardening on Ellison's face, Simon cut in before Jim could say more. "Just listen for a minute before you blow up. Your 'secret' isn't compromised. They are as bound as I am to respect and protect your privacy," he assured, hoping this would assuage his subordinate's anxiety. But, when the anger remained, even verged on what looked a lot like disgust as Jim turned his head away, his jaw tight and his posture rigidly uncompromising, Simon felt his own anger flare. "You listen to me, Detective Ellison and you listen good," he ordered, his voice a low snarl. "Your best friend and partner _crucified_ himself to protect you… _destroyed_ himself professionally and personally. Sandburg labeled himself a fraud and tossed his own credibility and integrity into the gutter _for you_. Maybe you can live with that, but I couldn't. Can you possibly imagine that I could have _ever_ gotten a self-proclaimed fraud a chance at the Academy without letting the Chief and the Commissioner know the truth? God damn it, Jim, we _owe_ him…you, me, this city…and I'll be damned if I was going to let him hang himself and not do everything in my power to repay his sacrifice. If _he_ can live with virtually everyone in this world believing he's an unethical fraud, _you_ can damned well live with your superiors knowing the truth. _Am I clear?_ "

Simon's angry words hit Jim with the force of a battering ram, smashing through his instinctive, fear spawned anger with a truth that was humiliating and overwhelming. His shoulders sagged as he bowed his head in shame. Fighting down the bile that rose with the understanding that Simon held him in as much contempt as he held himself, he murmured quietly, "Very clear, Captain."

"Good," Banks snapped as he turned away. There was another long silence between them and Simon felt his own anger dissipate. Better than Ellison knew, he understood Jim's fear of exposure and how that fear compromised his capacity to manage his senses…understood that Jim truly believed the truth about his senses couldn't be revealed.

Behind him, Jim straightened as he looked at his superior's back. "I'm sorry, Simon. Of course you had to share the truth with the Chief and the Commissioner. And…believe me," he continued, his voice hoarse with the emotions he was trying desperately to control, "I know what Blair did for me…I know what I owe him. Thank you for doing what you did to…to stand by him. To give him something back."

Banks nodded, suddenly feeling very weary. "All right," he sighed as he turned back. His expression was compassionate as he gazed down at his subordinate and saw the guilt written so clearly on Jim's face. But he couldn't find the words to grant absolution. Ellison would have to find the way to make his own peace with his conscience. Waving awkwardly toward the bullpen, he said quietly, "There's work to do…best you get back at it."

Swallowing, looking away, Jim stood and left the office.

* * *

Jim didn't say anything to Blair about his conversation with Simon when he got home after work. He didn't know about the meeting his superior had had with his roommate earlier in the day. But, his subdued manner when he entered the loft was the only signal Blair needed to know that Jim now knew that more people shared the secret of his senses.

Later though, Blair wondered what exactly had been said when Jim, after pushing the food around on his plate without taking a single bite, finally laid down his fork and looked up at him with haunted eyes. "What?" Sandburg asked, worried.

Jim's gaze dropped as he looked away, shaking his head a little before he looked back and asked quietly, "Chief…you do know how much I appreciate what you did…the press conference…don't you?"

"Yeah…sure I do," Blair hastened to reassure him. "Why?"

Shrugging a little helplessly, Jim replied hesitantly, "It just feels so… _wrong_. I can't handle people knowing the truth…so you set yourself up to be seen as a liar. I…" But, his voice trailed off, caught in the pain of a dilemma he couldn't find a way to resolve.

"Hey," Blair replied softly as he reached to grip Jim's forearm firmly. "It's all right, Jim. Everything has turned out all right. I'm going to the Academy; I get to be your partner for real. Let it go, man…we're past that."

Jim searched Blair's eyes and found the absolution he so sorely needed…but, somehow, it didn't assuage the guilt he felt to the depths of his soul.

* * *

Simon must have been persuasive, because Blair received a call from the Academy two days later informing him that in view of his anticipated assignment following graduation and for the good of the department, special permission was being granted to him to forego the usual regulation hair cut. However, he was cautioned that his hair was to be tied back at all times, and when in full uniform, it was to be pulled up and concealed by his cap.

Blair couldn't resist a cheer of victory when he hung up the phone, his face blazing with happiness. When Jim heard the news, he could only shake his head as he reached out to ruffle his friend's hair while muttering, "Only you, Chief, only you could pull off something like this…"

Of course, he might not have been so sanguine if he'd known that Blair had volunteered for undercover work as the rationale for keeping his long hair…but all Sandburg had said was he'd sought Simon's support that since he wouldn't be working in a uniformed branch but in Major Crimes, the regulation haircut wasn't, perhaps, really, _absolutely_ , necessary.

And so it was, when the day came, Blair stepped out of his room crisply dressed in the stiffly pressed spanking new uniform of a police cadet, his hair pulled back and hidden under the formal peaked cap of a police officer. Unusually reticent, his manner shy, he looked over at Jim who was sliding pancakes from the griddle onto a plate. Straightening his shoulders, he asked doubtfully, "So, uh, what do you think?"

Jim had been gazing at him with an unreadable look on his face but his expression relaxed into a slight smile as he replied, "Looking good, Chief…different…but good."

Smiling with relief, Blair stepped forward to take the plate Jim was holding out toward him. "Thanks, man. I feel like a kid dressed up for Halloween, you know? It'll take a while for this to feel…well…normal, I guess." Moving to the table, he pulled off his cap and set it to the side, his gathered hair falling down to hang over the back of his collar.

 _I can imagine it will_ , Jim thought with a twinge of sadness. Sandburg had had to give up so much to come to the point of wearing that uniform. But all he said as he sat down across from his friend and picked up his glass of juice was, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Blair nodded as he took a bite. But, the butterflies in his stomach were taking up too much room for him to get down more than a few bites and a couple of sips of juice. _First day nerves_ , he told himself as he pushed the plate back and picked up his cap. Reaching to shove his hair under, he slid the cap onto his head and straightened it carefully. Taking a deep breath, he said as he stood, "Well, I don't want to be late on my first day, so I'd better be off. See you later."

"'Later, Chief…and, Sandburg, don't worry, you're going to do just fine," Jim replied, his voice warm and reassuring. "In fact, I predict that you'll be great."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair replied with a grateful smile…and then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

The Sentinel listened to the clatter of steps on the stairwell and sighed as he pushed his own plate away. He'd meant it; he believed Blair would blow them away at the Academy. Jim Ellison just wished there could have been another way that hadn't cost his friend so much.

Turning his gaze to the door, Jim murmured, "I promise you, Sandburg, this will be okay. I promise I'll keep you safe, that you'll be all right."

* * *

After his first day at the Academy, Blair wasn't sure being allowed to keep the hair was such a good thing. Too many people there had seen his press conference and were aware that he'd labeled himself a fraud…and they didn't hesitate, or at least several of them didn't, to tell everyone else in the new class of cadets. The hair only gave one more excuse for them to jibe at him with insults and speculations about his masculinity if not his integrity.

Gritting his teeth, pasting a smile on his face, Blair told himself that he'd only gotten what he asked for and he'd be damned if he'd abuse Simon's support by cutting his hair now just to 'fit in'. He didn't fit in. With or without the hair. He wasn't a jock, or an 'outdoors' sort of person who looked for work outside of a traditional office setting, however much he could understand the lure having enjoyed his field work a whole lot more than filling out those forms administration never tired of requiring. He didn't have an overwhelming urge to 'protect' anyone but his Sentinel, though it mattered to him to know he'd be able to save lives. He hadn't grown up in a law enforcement household, taking after a parent who had been, or still was, a cop, but then he thought with a small smile that sharing a home with Jim was not unlike having a relative he respected in law enforcement. Ruefully, he shook his head, reflecting that maybe he wasn't so different after all. But, as he looked at some of the behemoths that surrounded him, he knew he'd never be _that_ tall or muscular. And, as he thought about those who were trying to bully him, he reflected that he had _no_ desire for power of any kind over other people.

And he _had_ labeled himself 'a fraud', so he couldn't be surprised by the wary and even resentful looks he got from other students and many of the staff. He could only hope, as Simon did, that they'd give him a 'fair shake' and that, after a while, they'd accept, if not exactly trust, him.

After a few days, he found a niche with other cadets who had chosen this career simply because they wanted to serve, because it was the right thing to do, right for them anyway, to make a difference for the better in their community. The rest he tried to get along with as best he could, ignoring the malicious and sarcastic comments made when the instructors weren't present or too quietly for anyone in authority to hear. He didn't complain, didn't whine, didn't even tell Jim about any of it. What would be the point? Jim would only feel badly, maybe try to get involved, which would only make him look like a wimp. This was his row to hoe, so he bent himself to the tasks at hand, determined to do his absolute best to repay the trust Simon and the others had in him. It wasn't as if he cared what the other cadets said, not really. They didn't know him. But, they might have to work together one day, who knew, so he did his best not to cultivate enemies, to win tolerance if not respect.

He worked hard at every aspect of the curriculum. A professional student for years, the course work was a snap for him and he routinely scored brilliantly on the quizzes and tests. But, he didn't study to get good grades…he studied long into each night to make sure he'd be a good cop. Though he didn't think of himself as an athlete, he'd done plenty of fieldwork in harsh conditions…and he'd had to keep up with a Sentinel, who'd had Covert Ops military training, for years. So much to his own surprise, he also scored in the top three on the initial physical fitness of agility, stamina and speed. But, he pushed himself harder still…out in the streets, being fit, being able to chase down a suspect or race to someone's defence could mean the difference between life and death.

The physical training related to self-defence and bringing down an assailant was more difficult. Blair had an aversion for physical violence and abhorred the idea of combat. But, he'd had to learn a few hard lessons in self-defence over the years working with Ellison and he was pragmatic. This was just one more skill, one more challenge he needed to conquer if he was to be Jim's partner. Though he was considerably smaller than many of the other cadets, he was solid, and when he was determined, he was a force to be reckoned with…a terrier that just wouldn't let go. So, he practiced hour after hour, honing and perfecting the moves, unconscious of his natural balance and exceptional grace of movement that others came to admire. It wasn't long before he could more than hold his own, even dropping Mallory, one of the more belligerent and aggressive cadets who was a great deal larger, stronger, meaner and who never seemed to tire of baiting him, to the mat with relative ease. An ease that only inflamed the dislike Mallory harboured for him, fanning it into a fury spawned by prejudice and fed by arrogance.

"I'll take you down," the big, surly cadet growled one day from the mat where he lay face down and helpless with Blair's knee in his back, pinning him to the floor.

"Maybe," Sandburg agreed with easy good humour, "but not today, my friend."

"I'm no friend of yours, you lying fag," Mallory growled back.

"Gosh, Mallory, you keep saying those nice things and I'll begin to wonder if you're in love with me," Blair taunted good-naturedly as he released his hold and moved to help the other cadet to his feet.

Furious, the muscular cadet rolled and kicked out, but Blair had been waiting for the move. It wasn't the first time that Mallory had played dirty. Philosophically, Sandburg just figured it was good practice in never letting down his guard around a suspect who had apparently been subdued. Stepping back from the attack, his hands up as he crouched in readiness for another aggressive assault, Blair prepared to take Mallory down again. Which he did, with unnerving ease. The two cadets hadn't realized they'd garnered a bit of an audience, other cadets around them turning at Mallory's tone of threat to see if there was a problem. When the bully hit the mat for a second time, red-faced and furious, while Blair moved with the grace of a dancer and didn't even break a sweat, there was a spattering of applause.

At the sound, Sandburg looked around in surprise, gave a quick grin and bowed his head in acknowledgment. But, inside, he was sorry for the attention. Mallory had never liked him, and it was only too clear the easy malice was swiftly building into a very real hatred…and that could only lead to more confrontations with the hostile cadet. It was Blair's secret and profound hope that when they finally did graduate, they'd be assigned so far apart from one another that he'd never have to work with the guy again, because he just didn't trust Mallory to ever be more than trouble.

In class, Sandburg aced the role-play sessions that required emotional insight into people, demonstrating a brilliant capacity to disarm, to win trust and cooperation and to defuse potentially deadly situations. His experience working with Jim and the others, combined with his own keen intelligence, was revealed time and again in case studies and scenarios requiring creative intuition combined with thoughtful and informed judgment. But, even then, he pursued lengthy conversations with the instructors and the other cadets, exploring and debating other options that might have even better results in the kinds of situations they were discussing.

Thorough, rigorous, Blair challenged himself to the limits and beyond every hour of every day to ensure that when he was 'out there' for real that no one would be at risk because he didn't know how to do his job.

The hardest of all, though, was coming to grips with the gun…literally. When his assigned weapon was first held out to him, it had been an effort of supreme will, of extreme control, to reach out and grasp it, taking it firmly into a hand he desperately tried to keep from shaking. Turning away, fighting his inclination to shudder and heave a deep breath to draw in air to drive off the feeling of suffocation, Blair kept his muscles rigid, his expression bland. He could feel the weight of it in his fist, the cold, sleek hardness of it and he could have sworn it reeked of the smell of blood. _Keep it together, Sandburg, you can do this_ , he commanded himself as he fell into line along the wall of the interior shooting range, reminding himself of the few times when Jim had pushed a gun into his hands and he'd swallowed hard, knowing at the time it was necessary. Well, this was also necessary. The fact that he hadn't actually ever had to _aim_ a gun at someone, and fire, with the intent to wound if not kill wasn't really relevant, was it?

He forced himself to listen to the instructor's words about how to hold, care for and use the weapon. "You must always aim for the body as this presents the largest target and allows the best possibility of disabling the assailant. Remember…no fancy shooting, ever…when you fire, you do so with deadly intent. It may well mean your life, not to mention the lives of the people you are sworn to protect," the instructor stated with implacable clarity.

Blair's breath caught at those words and he realized with a shock of horror that he'd been unconsciously deluding himself to think he'd not have to learn to shoot to kill. Forcing himself to breathe, fighting the bile that rose in his throat, he trembled with his determination to see this through…to do what was necessary.

To learn to kill.

It took everything he had.

When it came time to fire it at the target, the cadets were directed to put on sound mufflers to protect their eardrums, and then each took a place in the long bank of stalls. Blair swallowed hard against his parched throat, took a deep breath and lifted the weapon, holding it in both hands, his arms straight and elbows locked, his feet spaced apart for balance. Sighting along the barrel to the target beyond, he squeezed the trigger gently, not jerking it…and scored a hit in the center of the man-shaped image.

He thought he might throw up.

Instead, he gritted his jaw, forced himself to take a deep breath and fired again…and again…and again…until the pistol was empty. When he relaxed his muscles from their rigid stance, his arms were shaking, his whole body trembling and he had to fight off the desire to weep. Rubbing his sweaty palms along the sides of his trousers, he reloaded, lifted the weapon, and resumed firing. He could do this. He had to. He didn't have a choice.

From that day on, he spent every spare moment on the firing range, until he'd attained top scores and rated as a marksman. When one of his instructors approached him to ask if he'd consider serving as a sniper on special assault and rescue SWAT teams, Blair froze inside at the thought of patiently holding a rifle with the intent to kill, but just shook his head. It would be too much like being an assassin and the very idea of it made him feel ill. _Too much imagination, Sandburg_ , he castigated himself as the instructor waited for his response. "No," he explained then, glad he was able to maintain an easy, calm tone, "I already have an assignment waiting for me, but thanks anyway." Then he simply turned back to the firing range to resume his practice. Blair knew he was already more than capable of efficiently killing someone if and when that terrible day came, but that wasn't nearly good enough to satisfy his own rigorous standards. No, he was determined to be good enough to maybe have the chance in a desperate situation to disarm without having to take a life, no matter how dangerous the criminal might be. It was up to the courts to make life and death decisions, and he intended so far as was ever possible to give the courts the opportunity to do their job.

In the early days, Jim tried to get Blair to talk about life at the Academy, wondering if his friend was getting a fair shake. But, Sandburg would just shrug, open one of his books, say everything was fine and study well past the time when he should have been in bed. Shrugging, Ellison told himself not to be surprised. This was Sandburg the Student…obsessive as ever about learning all he could as fast as possible.

But, as the weeks went by, Jim couldn't help but notice Blair _had_ changed. He was quieter for one thing, more somber than Ellison had ever known him to be. The indefinable spark, that mixture of bright enthusiasm and pervasive cheerfulness, the wonder that had been in his eyes, the way he'd chattered on and on about whatever caught his fancy…it was all missing. The kid would smile, even crack a joke from time to time, but the lightness of spirit was gone and Jim mourned its loss. One day, he found himself wondering when he'd last heard Blair laughing with high good spirits, unreservedly…like a delighted child. And, he found it had been so long that he couldn't actually remember. He only knew it had been too long, and he wondered if he'd ever hear that sound again.

Maybe he should have talked to Sandburg about it, but he didn't know what to say. How could he complain about missing what amounted to an innocence of spirit when he knew too damned well the pain Blair had suffered on his behalf, and was no doubt still suffering, was what had cost Blair his innocence? How could he ask his friend why he was so serious and somber when he knew the doubts Sandburg had had about becoming a police officer? Blair had always been the one with the ready words and the right questions, the one to provoke discussions about difficult subjects…when he was silent, Jim didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't want to push, so he backed off.

Made for quiet evenings in the loft.

Ellison told himself it would be better when they were working together again. Blair would relax and see that it wouldn't be all that different from the way it had always been. As the experienced officer, Jim would take the lead and Blair would back him up, that's the way it would go. Just like before, he'd do all in his power to keep Sandburg safe.

Unconsciously, the detective didn't even realize he wasn't really adjusting to the new reality. Blair wasn't going to be a civilian, someone who could be ordered to stay in the truck, out of the way of danger, not that he'd listened all that well anyway. Jim wouldn't be able to treat him the same way in the hopes of keeping him safe. The rules would change once Blair graduated, and though Blair knew that, and Simon knew it, and everyone else on the squad knew it, Jim hadn't really figured that part out yet.

* * *

At first, the instructors had been decidedly cool towards him, wondering how a guy who'd lied to the world and abused his friendship with a police officer to write such incredible fiction without even bothering to change the detective's name, had ever managed to be accepted to the Academy. Not only accepted, but given the special dispensation of not having to cut his hair. It didn't add up. Seasoned officers with curious minds, they checked their own sources in the department and speculated about the infamous 'Sentinel' dissertation privately and amongst themselves. Ellison had been named 'Policeman of the Year' more than once, routinely actually, both before and after Sandburg had been working with him as an unofficial observer. There was no doubt that Ellison was an outstanding cop…but he'd pulled off some truly amazing stunts in the last few years…the 'Sandburg years' as they came to refer to them in their quiet speculative conversations in the staff coffee room. And, it was an open rumour that the 'righteous' Ellison couldn't wait to get his 'partner' back, refusing to work with anyone else until Sandburg graduated and was assigned to the Major Crimes Unit, which didn't square with someone who had supposedly abused his trust. Added to all of that, so far as they knew him and some of them knew him very well, Simon Banks was no fool. If he was willing to jump Sandburg over any number of other well qualified, experienced and deserving officers in order to give him a gold shield right out of the Academy…well, it would be a first.

Actually, it was damned near unbelievable.

All of which meant that Blair Sandburg wasn't all that he seemed in the public eye.

Nor did it take them long to be personally impressed with his clear talents and hard work. No doubt about it, he was going to make an outstanding cop. Which only made them wonder more about the story behind the story that had caused such a stir a few short weeks ago. Some of them even tried to get Sandburg to talk about it, veiled enquiries to learn the truth about this 'Sentinel' business, but Sandburg froze them out. His face would go all blank and pale as he politely, but resolutely, refused any comment on what had occurred. All he'd say was that he'd made a mistake but he hoped he'd learned from it…and that was that.

Which only made them all the more certain that there was a great deal more to the truth than what most people might ever know. Professionals, they kept their opinions to themselves within their own closed circle, but they'd be watching what this crime team would accomplish once Sandburg graduated. "Should make for interesting times in the city," one quipped to the others during one of those speculative discussions, "If the bad guys have any sense, they'll move out of town while they still have the freedom to get away." His colleagues chuckled at his wry observation…but they were also in complete accord.

Nor were the instructors as oblivious as Blair thought them to be with respect to the nastiness he was experiencing from some of the other cadets. With narrowed eyes and silent appraisal, they watched those who couldn't seem to accept the man on his own terms, letting their biases and prejudices cloud their judgment of a fellow cadet who did nothing to earn their personal rancor. As the weeks went by, several of the troublemakers were surprised to find themselves deemed 'unsatisfactory' and summarily dismissed from the Academy. Blind to their own shortcomings, they couldn't see that their attitudes spelled trouble, that they'd be dangerous on the streets, abusing their power in order to intimidate others. Though nothing was ever said that would let them know the decisions were at least in part influenced by their treatment of Sandburg, many resented the fact that he got to stay while they were kicked out…and some, one of whom was Mallory, would nurse their grievance with a grim and implacable patience, holding him in their minds as the symbol of the injustice done to them. One day Sandburg would get his due. And what a sweet day that would be.

The weeks wore on.

Sandburg kept his head down and did all that he could do to get through it as successfully as possible. Once he graduated, he was all too conscious of the responsibilities he would bear as an armed officer of the law…he intended to be as ready as humanly possible to fulfill those responsibilities and repay the trust all the members of the Major Crimes Unit had in him.

* * *

About a month after Blair had entered the Academy, William Ellison called his son, to report that he'd held the conversations they'd discussed.

"Do you think it will do any good?" Jim asked. "Does your lawyer think there's any kind of case here of unlawful dismissal or whatever they call it when a student is expelled?"

His father sighed as he replied, "I don't know, Jimmy. My lawyer wrote up a letter for me to send to the Chancellor with thinly veiled threats of a possible lawsuit, but we haven't gotten any response other than they've received my letter and are 'considering the matter'. As for the folks I know on the Board of Trustees, well, they listened politely to my concerns but didn't say much. I'm afraid there isn't much we can do."

"I understand, Dad…thanks for trying," Jim had replied.

Thinking back on the conversation later, Ellison wondered at the mixed emotions he felt. Part of him really wanted Blair to be vindicated, to have a chance at obtaining the degree he so richly deserved. But, part of him was relieved. If Sandburg got his Ph.D., he might want to pursue another career…it would only make sense if he got the necessary academic credentials. It was what he'd trained the greater part of his life for, being a professor, researching, teaching. Ruthlessly, he pushed away a nagging anxiety that the university officials might well wonder why his father had attempted to lend Blair support…an odd thing for the man to do given his son's reputation was supposedly compromised by a document reputed to be false. Sighing, Jim rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head at his seemingly limitless capacity to be selfish, but God, he missed having Blair with him at work. Still, it was all out of his hands, he consoled himself to mute the guilt he was feeling. His father had tried and there was nothing more to be done. Letting it go, he was just glad he hadn't raised Blair's hopes since the situation with the university did, indeed, seem to be irreparable.

* * *

One morning, about an hour after Sandburg had left, Jim headed down to his truck and was surprised to see the old battered Volvo still in its slot. Frowning, he noticed the tires were flat…all of them. Squatting to investigate, he ran his fingers over the treads, and found the puncture holes. Thoughtfully, he flipped open his cell and called their garage to see if Sandburg had arranged for new tires, unsurprised to learn they'd not heard anything from his roommate. Explaining the situation, Ellison ordered new tires to be charged to his account and directed that they be installed that day. As he talked, he scanned the other cars in the area and he didn't feel any better when he noticed that all of their tires appeared to be intact. A prank? Simple vandalism? Maybe.

But, maybe not.

That evening, Blair was surprised on his return to find his car once again whole and ready for use. Smiling to himself, he didn't have to guess that his best friend had found the damage and seen to the repairs. There hadn't been time that morning for him to do anything but sprint for the bus, cursing under his breath at the destructive tendencies of disaffected youth and muttering to himself about his bad luck in ending up the random target. Nor had there been time that day to call the garage himself and he'd thought he'd have to deal with it when he got home. He was tired and it was a relief to see the work had already been done.

"Thanks, Jim!" he called gratefully as he bounded into the loft, tossing his pack of books onto the floor by the sofa. "I see you got my tires replaced."

"Uh huh," Ellison grunted from the kitchen where he was busy chopping up the makings of a salad.

Going to the fridge, Blair snagged a beer for himself, and seeing that Jim didn't have one, pulled one out for his friend as well. "I really appreciate it, man. How much do I owe you?"

"We'll work that out once you have a paycheck coming in, Chief. Don't worry about it right now, okay?" Ellison replied, looking up and glad to see the grin on Blair's face and the agreeable nod. He'd been afraid of an argument about the money and he knew Sandburg didn't have two cents to rub together at that point. It was a relief to know Blair could accept a little help without making a big deal out of it. "So, why your car, Sandburg?" he asked, concern darkening his eyes.

Blair just shrugged as he moved to the stove to stir the tomato sauce that was simmering gently. "Who knows, man? Bad karma? Maybe whoever did it doesn't like classic cars," he replied.

Jim snorted at that. "Classic cars? Give me a break," he replied with the disparaging tone he reserved for the old Volvo.

Blair gave a short bark of laughter then moved to the counter to pull the fresh Italian bread Jim had picked up from the bakery downstairs from its paper wrapper. Slicing it and coating the halves with olive oil and herbs, he changed the subject. "So, how are things down at the station?"

"Oh, you know, the usual…some gang heisting semis loaded with military weapons destined for the base outside of town, word that a major drug deal is going to go down sometime soon, miscellaneous threats against prominent citizens…this and that," Ellison replied with a shrug as he loaded the rabbit food into a large bowl.

"'This and that,'" Blair snorted, "right. Any of those sound like they could be pretty hairy, Jim."

Not fooled by the nonchalance, Jim laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it, Chief. I'm being careful…I'll be fine," he said quietly. Blair nodded but didn't look up at him. Biting his lip, Ellison moved away to take plates from the cupboard and set the table. He knew all too well how hard Blair was finding it to not be able to be there in case he was needed, how much his roommate worried when he couldn't be present to provide backup. But, Blair had enough on his plate right now. He looked tired and he wasn't sleeping enough. No way could he be finding the Academy's curriculum all that difficult, so Jim knew Blair was driving himself to a level of unachievable perfection. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about errant Sentinel senses or the everyday hazards of life on the job as a detective in the Major Crimes Unit.

Silently, Jim drained the noodles and dished up their simple meal. When they were seated across from one another, he said, "You need to ease up on yourself, Chief…you're attacking your studies like they were a life and death issue…."

"They are," Blair interjected without apology. He looked up and caught Jim's pained expression and shook his head as he helped himself to the salad. "Look, I know you think I'm too intense about it all, but…Jim, it _could be_ life or death. Yours. Some civilian. Another cop. I just want to be sure I'm ready when I graduate, that's all."

"I know, Sandburg…but you were a great detective before you started. You won't do anybody any good if you work yourself to death before you even hit the streets," Jim counseled as he reached for the cheese and shook copious amounts of it over his plate.

Blair eyed the flakes of solid cholesterol with disfavour but refrained from verbal comment. "I'm fine, don't worry so much, Mom," he replied, then cut Jim a quick glance accompanied by a fleeting grin to let his friend know it was the truth. He really was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

"Eat your dinner, Sandburg," Jim replied severely…but then he grinned back.

* * *

The next morning, they went downstairs together, and found that someone had taken what looked like a sledgehammer to the windshield of Sandburg's car. A hole was punched through the glass, cracks radiating from it across the entire span of the windshield and tiny shards of shattered crystal littered the interior of the vehicle.

"Aw, man," Blair groaned under his breath, his tone that of an anguished wail. His insurance rates were already high enough. He really did _not_ need this.

"You know, Chief, I think you've managed to seriously annoy someone," Ellison observed. But, though his words and tone were mild, inside his gut clenched. This wasn't random violence.

Someone was sending Blair a message.

"You think?" Blair asked with disgust, but then shook his head. "No…really…who'd do this?"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim responded as he pulled out his cell to call the garage and arrange the tow and repairs while his eyes scanned the area searching for whomever might be watching to enjoy the reaction to the vandalism. But he didn't see anyone who looked the least bit suspicious…just the usual early morning traffic and pedestrians heading to work. Flipping his cell closed after the conversation with the mechanic, Ellison turned to Blair to resume the one they'd been having. "You haven't been anywhere but here and the Academy for weeks. Since I didn't do this, or slash your tires, who at the Academy would attack you like this?"

Shaking his head, Blair sighed. "No one I can think of. I mean…there're've been a few people who took exception to me being there after…well, you know. But, that's just stuff, man, to be expected. Maybe this _is_ just random vandalism."

Jim winced at that. He wondered how much crap Blair had had to put up with that he was unaware of, just because it was 'to be expected'. But, his tone as he replied held nothing of his own pain at those simple words or why Blair just took it as a given. Indeed, in his attempt to hide his own anguish, to spare Blair that at least, he sounded almost gruff. "C'mon, Sandburg, you're supposed to be a detective. Think about it. Do you see any other cars around here with slashed tires or smashed windshields? So who's doing this? Who's trying to send you a message?"

His own eyes hardening at the tone and the criticism, Blair snapped, "I don't know, Jim. Let's just drop it, all right? I have to catch the bus or I'll be late." Without another word, Blair turned and jogged away.

Ellison opened his mouth to apologize for his roughness, to call him back and offer him a ride, but then he let it go. The fact was, he had no intention of 'dropping it'. Whether Blair wanted to face it or not, he'd made an enemy…one who snuck around in the dark and exhibited violent tendencies. Not a good enemy to have. Turning back to the Volvo, Ellison examined the car and the ground around it, looking for any clues he could find. But the gravel beneath his feet and the battered exterior of the old car gave up no secrets. When he sniffed the air, he could detect no foreign or unusual traces of scent. With his white noise generator up in his bedroom, he'd heard nothing during the night. Whoever had done this hadn't left any clues behind.

Which meant this enemy was either lucky or dangerous…neither of which was reassuring to the Sentinel.

However, when there were no further incidents in the weeks following, Ellison allowed himself to hope that it might have just been a passing flare of anger that had burned itself out…though he was still bothered that he had no idea of who or why someone had exhibited such violence toward his best friend.

* * *

A week before classes at the Academy were finally finished, Blair got home before Jim. Pulling the mail from their box, he carried it upstairs while he idly sorted through it. However, one envelope caused him to pause in mid-step. It was from the Chancellor's Office, Rainier University. Frowning, wondering why she'd be writing to him, his mind reviewed the last few hours he'd spent there, cleaning out his office, returning books and artifacts to the library. He couldn't think of anything he'd overlooked or left behind. Idly, he wondered if he was going to be sued for having caused the institution embarrassment as he trudged up the stairs, not eager to find out.

Once inside the loft, he tossed the other mail along with his cap on the table, and took a deep breath before slitting open the envelope. He unfolded the single page of heavy stationary, and scanned the missive, his eyes widening with incredulity as he read. 'I can't believe it,' he murmured as he slowed down and started again from the top.

> > _'Dear Mr. Sandburg, A review of events suggests that the University may have acted precipitously in severing our connection with you. Since you did not, in fact, submit the document purported to be your dissertation for publication and never at any time personally attested to its validity, it has been determined that the incident, however distasteful, was not your full responsibility._
>> 
>> _However, your admission to having written the document and your public assertion that it was fraudulent did, indeed, bring embarrassment upon this institution and your association with Rainier University cannot be contemplated in the long term._
>> 
>> _Nevertheless, a decision has been reached to offer you the opportunity to submit a dissertation in support of your status as a candidate for a doctorate of philosophy in your field of study, Anthropology. If you wish to take advantage of this opportunity, please submit said document for review within ten days to your former advisor, Dr. Elijah Stoddard. Given the number of years that you were associated with this institution, and the multiple extensions you received toward the completion of this documentary requirement for graduation, this should be sufficient time for you to provide evidence of your scholarship. If you fail to do so, this opportunity will expire._
>> 
>> _Should Dr. Stoddard find the document worthy of verbal defence, he will advise you accordingly in the near future.'_

For a moment, Blair stood in stunned silence, the sheet of paper trembling in his hands. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to take a deep breath, then a second and third, grounding himself, restoring himself to some semblance of calm.

They were giving him another chance. Briefly, he wondered why. But, then, as the reality of it sank in, he discovered he didn't care.

His eyes lifted from the letter to gaze through the balcony windows to the sky beyond as a wordless, overwhelming sense of gratitude filled his soul. Then, carefully folding the letter and returning it to its envelope, he went to his room and turning on his laptop, he found and inserted the diskette on which he'd stored, 'The Thin Blue Line by Blair Sandburg'. Flipping on the printer, he tapped in the command and waited for the lengthy document to be produced on the small portable printer on the side of his desk. Once it was finished, he carefully placed it in an envelope, and then left the loft to head to the printer down the street. The formal submission of a proposed dissertation required five appropriately bound copies.

They'd given him ten days thinking he'd never be able to meet the deadline and their responsibilities would be met without any further contact with him. But, he'd have the necessary copies on his advisor's desk before another ten _hours_ had passed.

Within two hours, he had returned from the university, where he'd left the bound documents in a large envelope with administration for overnight delivery to his advisor's office and had changed out of his uniform. By the time Ellison got home, Blair was finishing the preparation of a quick but substantial meal. All the while he'd been preparing it, Sandburg had debated telling Jim about this incredible turn of events. But, he hesitated, still uncertain that he'd get a fair hearing. He might not even be granted the opportunity of a verbal defence, and even if he was, there was no guarantee they'd accept the dissertation and grant him his doctorate. No, better to keep this to himself for now. It wouldn't change anything, not really. He'd still be Jim's partner. It would just be a major vindication of his academic reputation and it would finally bring closure to all of those years of effort and dreams. That's all…no big deal. Right?

Despite his decision, he couldn't hide all trace of his excitement. So, it was no surprise when Jim picked up on it and asked what was going on. Grinning as he dished up their meal, Blair simply said, "Nothing special. I guess I'm just excited to know I'm almost through all the Academy hoops. One more week, man. Just one more week and then graduation a week after that…and you have yourself a partner again."

Smiling at Blair's excitement at the idea of returning to work as his full-fledged partner, Jim replied warmly, "Well, when you put it like that…I guess it's reason enough to be excited. I'm looking forward to having you back, Chief, more than you know."

* * *

The week flew by, and in anticipation of receiving his diploma, Blair headed into the station with Jim the following week to begin reading up on the current cases, so he'd be ready to jump into full action as soon as he had the authority to do so. Everyone welcomed him back with unbridled enthusiasm, everyone in Major Crimes, that is. If there were more than a few sidelong looks from others in the department, a few muttered disparaging comments, Blair ignored them. They were only to be expected and he'd just have to live with it until the novelty of his presence wore off. When he sensed Jim stiffen after having also overheard a sarcastic slur, he placed his hand on his friend's arm as he murmured, "Let it go. They'll get used to me in time. They did before."

Jim threw him an aggravated look, his eyes clouded with anger and concern, but he sighed. Sandburg was right. If he made a big deal of it, the attitudes would only harden. But damn, he was tired of the crap Blair had to endure. It was so very far from what Sandburg deserved.

Within a couple of days, Blair noticed that while many still gave him a wide berth, or dealt with him coolly when they had to do so, the evident looks and comments of disparagement and bitter annoyance at having to work with 'a liar and a fraud' had ceased. Thoughtfully, he pondered that, knowing it hadn't just 'blown over', not that quickly. But, when he challenged Jim as to whether he'd intervened somehow, Ellison just raised his hands, his face a picture of innocence as he denied having done or said anything…much as he had very much wanted to. The detective saw no reason to tell his young partner that he hadn't had to do or say anything. The other members of the Major Crimes Unit, including their Captain, had done and said all that had been required to bring enlightenment to anyone who imagined they could get away with criticizing their newest team member.

The graduation ceremony was held the following Saturday, a bright clear June day, the clouds and incessant drizzle absent as if even the weather was celebrating this auspicious event. Everyone from Major Crimes was there, and Blair was touched to see William and Steven Ellison slip into the back row. Only his mother was absent, but he hadn't expected her to celebrate his initiation into the field of law enforcement. She'd called the night before, to congratulate him, though he could tell the words were a little forced. Still, he appreciated the gesture…it had been more than he'd expected.

Jim and the others were all grinning with clear pride and jubilation that this day had finally come as they each took their seats in a row near the center of the auditorium at the Academy. They'd known he'd achieve, even more, that he'd excel. But Blair had not given them a clue as to just how very well he had excelled. The formal speeches of welcome, and of the importance of this event, of the work these men and women would do in the years ahead gave way to the presentation of the diplomas to each individual cadet as their names were called. As that part of the program was concluded, the members of the graduating class stood and were collectively applauded by the guests and by the dignitaries on the stage. Then came the presentation of awards for outstanding achievement in several areas of the curriculum: academic studies, marksmanship, physical training, and leadership.

As that stage of the program was reached, Commissioner Owens, who routinely presented those awards, rose to move to the microphone. Placing his large hands on either side of the podium, the man who ultimately led the Cascade Police looked out over the gathered assembly. "I have the pleasure of recognizing excellence in this year's class of cadets," he began, "but instead of presenting each award separately, this year I want to first share with you what the achievement each award represents. The Academic Studies Award is given to the cadet who scored the highest marks in their studies across the board in all subjects, and this year, the recipient not only achieved this distinction through an averaging of their marks, but also did indeed score the highest grade in every single subject. The Marksmanship Award is self-explanatory, and this year's recipient has far exceeded the standards required even of the best members of our Special Weapons and Tactics Teams. The Physical Training Award goes to the cadet who is best able to both defend himself and others in unarmed combat when that is required to subdue a suspect or the perpetrator of a crime. And, finally, the Leadership Award is given to that cadet who most exemplifies the qualities we seek in our ranks…service, dedication, commitment, professionalism and the elusive quality to inspire others to follow his or her example. Each and every one of these awards is a major achievement of which the recipient may be rightly proud. It is rare, indeed, that one individual should be chosen to receive them all, but this year I am privileged to honour such unique and extraordinary achievement."

The Commissioner paused a moment to let the expectant silence settle over the assembly, then called out with a broad smile, "Officer Blair Sandburg, please stand and come forward."

There was a collective gasp in the auditorium. Some because they remembered what had occurred less than three months before and could scarcely believe such an individual could be so honoured. Others, most notably those in the center row and two men in the back, because of the pride that fairly burst from them, and then they were clapping loudly and standing to show their respect and admiration. Their example was soon followed by others, until even those who were uncomfortable doing so stood, conscious of the discomfort they'd feel if they remained in their seats when so many others were applauding the unique and overwhelming achievement of this single individual.

Blair was simply dumbfounded.

He'd known he'd done well because he'd been asked to speak as valedictorian, and he'd been looking forward to seeing Jim's pleased surprise when he stood for that role. But, he'd had no idea that this singular honour was to be bestowed upon him. For a moment, he sat frozen, but as the applause started and his enthusiastic colleagues in the ranks of the graduating cadets thumped his back, shouting their congratulations, he made it to his feet and then up the stairs to the stage. When he reached the Commissioner, who had him turn and face the standing ovation, he blushed and trembled with mingled embarrassment and joy.

"Well done, Sandburg," the Commissioner was saying as he reached to shake Blair's hand. "It's good to know that you'll be a member of my force in two days time. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Blair replied with suitable formality and decorum as he shook the much taller man's hand. The Commissioner then handed him his four crystal awards, each inscribed with the title of the award and his name, and then there was a pause while the professional photographer snapped the requisite pictures to immortalize the moment.

Keeping one hand on Blair's shoulder, the Commissioner turned back to the crowd. Leaning toward the microphone, he said, "I'm very pleased to now turn the podium over to this year's class valedictorian, Officer Blair Sandburg."

Again, there was a thunderous burst of applause. Blair moved to the podium and took a moment to place the awards on the rim in front of him. Then he raised his hands to quiet the crowd. Clearing his throat, taking a deep breath, he began, his gaze shifting over the crowd, and then his fellow graduates, as he spoke,

"I am honoured to have this opportunity to speak on behalf of all of my colleagues in this graduating class. When we first entered the doors of this Academy, we came from different walks of life and with different motivations for wanting to join the law enforcement community of Cascade. We were strangers to one another, but we had one thing in common: the _determination_ to walk out of these same doors as police officers. Over the past few weeks, we have come to know and to respect one another…and I can assure you that we will collectively serve with commitment and excellence. I am privileged to be a member of this group and I hold each one in high regard. _I'd trust any of them with my life_ …and you can be assured that you could as well."

Blair's gaze rose to fasten on the middle row of the crowd as he continued, "But…there's something else I want to share with you and that's our sense of _privilege_ to be invited to be members of a community of men and women who dedicate their lives to the service of others, to the protection of the innocent and the vulnerable, and to the laws that make our community a secure place to live and raise our families. The men and women who choose to serve as police officers are a breed apart. Their courage, integrity, compassion and professionalism give them the strength to face great challenges and personal danger, usually in obscurity, often without the respect they so richly deserve from all of us, every single day of their lives. They serve and protect, not to receive acclaim or gratitude, but because it's the _right_ thing, the _necessary_ thing, to do. They serve and protect with humility, with a sense of profound responsibility and with an excellence that is awe-inspiring to anyone who takes the time to really pay attention, to notice what they give and achieve."

Turning his head, he glanced at the seated ranks of the Academy staff on the stage as he continued, "I've been asked by my colleagues to thank our instructors for so rigorously preparing us to assume our new responsibilities, to make us as ready as they could to be successful in our new careers. And, believe me, I'm sure there were many days when our instructors were certain that they were facing an impossible task."

Blair paused to let the murmur of laughter fade. Then, his voice ringing out with clear sincerity as he looked out across the crowd, he concluded, "But our instructors have served us, and we hope through us, you, well. We are as ready as they can make us to take our places, to do our jobs with distinction." Once again, his gaze sought Simon, and then he focused on Jim as he continued, "Finally, on behalf of all of us in this class, let me assure you that we are _truly grateful_ to be accepted into the ranks of the Cascade Police Department, and we each pledge ourselves to win your trust and confidence, to be worthy of the honour bestowed upon us here today. Those of you here, who already serve and protect, know that we are eager to stand with each of you, to follow your lead, to watch your back, to learn from your experience and to make you proud of our contributions." Lifting his gaze to once again encompass the entire audience, his voice ringing with passion, he uttered his closing remarks, "Those of you who are not police officers, know that we pledge this to you… _we will serve and protect you to the best of our ability, even at the cost of our own lives if that be the required price. And, we'll do so gladly… because you're worth it and because it's our privilege and our duty_. Thank you, all of you, for being here today to celebrate the beginning of our new careers and lifelong commitment to law enforcement."

As Blair stepped back from the podium, there was a moment of silence and then thunderous applause once again broke out across the gathered assembly, echoed by the ranks of instructors and officials sitting behind him on the stage. He bowed his head briefly toward the audience, then turned and saluted those on the stage before gathering his awards and descending to once again take his seat.

Those members of the crowd who were currently or formerly serving officers of the law had been touched by Blair's tribute to them. Men and women toughened by life on the streets, too often tired and cynical, felt their chests constrict and lumps form in their throats while their eyes misted at his words of approbation and respect. Too many had known too little of such acknowledgment throughout the course of their careers, but more, they were touched by the passion and sincerity that echoed their own, that was the foundation of their own commitment to serve and protect. Though they'd have gladly cut out their own tongues before admitting to any sentimentality, the vows made by Sandburg on behalf of his colleagues and the collective sense of privilege these young people felt to be joining their ranks humbled them and made them proud at the same time, and each vowed to look out for each and every one of them when they hit the streets. Good kids. All of them.

Those who were not police officers were made thoughtful by Sandburg's words, and the vow he made on behalf of the entire class, to protect even if it meant their lives. It was a profound and moving commitment, and the truth of what that cost might one day be was sobering, even frightening, because these bright young officers were well loved by those who came to celebrate with them today. They looked at the graduating class with new respect for the courage it took to wear a badge, to face what they pledged to do, every single day.

Jim felt his heart filled to overflowing with pride for his best friend as Blair received his awards and then captured the audience with his voice and eyes, with the passion that radiated from him. But, as he listened while Blair gazed into his eyes, and then heard the last ringing vow, his heart chilled and he looked away, his throat tight. Blinking, he drove away the burning in his eyes and took a deep breath to settle his emotions, to rein in the fear those words provoked in his soul. Silently, turning his intense gaze back to Blair, he made his own vow. _**Not you, Blair Sandburg**. I **swear** to you, this job will **not** cost your life…so long as I live I will do **everything** in my power to keep you safe._

The ceremony concluded and the celebrations began, first with a formal reception at the Academy. But, as they made their way from the auditorium, Blair's heart sank when he saw the reporters and cameramen converging upon them. He shouldn't have been surprised, he told himself sadly as he straightened his back and schooled his features, unconsciously cloaking himself in dignity in readiness for the assault. However, before the two groups converged, Commissioner Owens stepped forward between them, evidently quite deliberately to run interference.

The media wasted no time in peppering him with questions while the lights of the cameras blazed into his eyes. "Commissioner, how do you account for someone who is a self-admitted liar and fraud being allowed into this Academy, and from what we've observed today, being held up as some kind of example? Surely the citizens of Cascade can expect better than that from the law enforcement community they depend upon," reporter Don Haas shouted out with a noticeable sneer of contempt.

Having gotten the question he wanted, Commissioner Owens wasted no time in answering it. "Thank you for asking that question. You have given me the opportunity to address some misconceptions and deliberate misrepresentations by the media that have stood on the record for far too long already. Mr. Sandburg, in fact, never submitted the supposed dissertation to the University and held the press conference in order to prevent the media frenzy from further interfering in an ongoing police operation. Media frenzy, let me remind you, that had already cost the police their opportunity to capture an assassin before he had the opportunity to wound several police officers. With the assassin still at large it was vital that the media cease hounding the lead detective on the case. That Mr. Sandburg was obliged to risk his reputation and academic career in order to halt the _irresponsible_ behaviour of many members of the media is worthy of discussion, if not at the present time. Suffice it to say that Mr. Sandburg's willingness to incur public disapprobation in order to protect the men and women of the Cascade police department was a significant factor in our decision to grant him entrance into the Academy. That decision resulted in Mr. Sandburg's graduating as the number one cadet in his class in all areas of achievement. Now, I trust that will answer the questions you have for today and you will want to allow these young people, their families and their friends, to celebrate this occasion, their achievement and their commitment to the citizens of Cascade, as they so richly deserve."

The reporters were flummoxed.

He was accusing them of irresponsibility and culpability in the destruction of Sandburg's academic career and had offered a completely unheard until now explanation of the infamous press conference. With visions of lawsuits dancing in their heads as they reflected that they had known very well that the document had been released without permission and had never been claimed as authoritative, they decided that perhaps there were no more questions for the day. Discretion being the better part of valour, cameras were turned off and the crowd of media representatives faded away. This story just wasn't worth the risks…in fact, maybe there wasn't much of story at all in this annual graduation of police cadets. The more hostile members of the media community grumbled that it was no doubt a deliberate strategy by the police officials to have waited until now to share this unexpected explanation of the events last spring to score off them and make them look like fools.

Well pleased with the reaction he'd gotten, and with his staff who had prepared his remarks so adroitly in anticipation of this confrontation, the Commissioner turned his back on the media and reached out to once again shake Blair's hand as he said, "Let me congratulate you again, Blair, on an outstanding achievement and for all that you have contributed to our department already. It's good to know that a fine young officer like you will be officially joining our Major Crimes Unit."

Blown away by what had just happened, flushing with pleased embarrassment at the Commissioner's praise, Blair could do scarcely more than murmur, "Thank you, sir. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Nodding complacently, Owens turned to shake Simon's hand, waved generally at the rest and took his leave, knowing that his presence inhibited their right to their personal celebration of the day. Shortly thereafter, the official reception ended and the crowd broke up as each group left to pursue their own private salute to the new officer they were honouring that day.

Simon had decided to hold their celebration in his home and it went well into the night as the deliriously happy and disgustingly proud members of the Major Crimes Unit toasted Blair in a manner that overwhelmed him with its enthusiasm and generosity. There were gifts, some serious and some amusing, all given with love. A leather shoulder holster, along with a holster for his belt and one for his ankle. "What, you guys expect me to keep dropping my weapon and having to reach for another?" he joked as he opened them in succession. A new cell phone, a palm pilot, a watch etched with the date of his graduation, shampoo and conditioner in tribute to his long curls, a 'Major Crimes Unit' baseball cap and sweatshirt, and pretty pastel ribbons for his hair. None of the gifts were individually given, but were presented from the unit as a whole, because it was with unanimity that they were welcoming him formally to their ranks.

After Blair had opened the last gift, blushing softly with gratitude, the light of love blazing from his eyes, he looked around at each of them as he said quietly, "Thank you. I can't ever tell you how much your support and friendship has meant, will always mean, to me." His voice cracked and he had to take a breath and blink before he continued, "I meant every word I said up there on that stage today, but most of all, I meant how grateful and honoured I feel to be accepted by all of you. I promise…I'll never let you down… or give you reason to be anything but proud of what I contribute to this team."

Simon stood then and reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim black leather folder. "We're going to hold you to that, Sandburg, because, starting right now, you are Detective Blair Sandburg, serving with the Major Crimes Unit, Cascade Police Department. Congratulations." Simon opened the wallet to reveal the Gold Shield inscribed with Blair's name, and then handed it to the young man who had risen to his feet to accept it.

While the others cheered and reached to pound him on the back, Blair took the badge and stared at it silently for a long moment. Then, he raised eyes glistening with tears to Simon's gaze as he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "Thank you, Simon…thank you for _everything."_ And then, typically Blair, he moved forward and embraced the older man in a tight hug.

"Now, now, Sandburg," Simon said amidst the hoots and hollers of his team, "let's not get carried away." Patting the younger man awkwardly on the back, he added with mock severity, "And, remember, you're supposed to call me 'sir'!"

"Yes, sir," Blair replied, without a trace of laughter, as he stood back and away. "But, if I slip up from time to time, please don't think it a sign of disrespect. Because I do respect you, not just your position… _you_."

Touched, Simon gave him a short nod and a tight smile before looking away to gather his own emotions. "So, who needs a drink?" he called out, to get the party back on track. The night was supposed to be fun, not overwrought with emotion.

Blair felt a hand on his back and turned to look up into Jim's clear gaze. "Congratulations, Chief," Ellison said quietly as he squeezed his best friend's shoulder. "You know I've always been proud of you, but you really out did yourself today. And, well, you know how glad I am to know you're my partner…I've been really looking forward to this day…to know that nobody can revoke _this_ pass." As he spoke, Jim tapped the shield in Blair's hands.

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said as he moved to hug his partner tightly, warmed to feel Jim hugging him right back. "I'm glad, too," he murmured, smiling, feeling at peace with the world. He'd won the right to stand by Jim, as his partner, his friend and his guide. For the first time in four years, he could relax with the knowledge that now nothing could prevent him from taking his place by Jim's side, guarding his back, protecting him from the dangers he so bravely and selflessly faced all the days of his life.

* * *

**_Chapter Two: Love…Hopes All Things_ **

Both roommates were in fine good humour as they started their first day as official partners. Jim had risen early to make an elaborate breakfast, only to meet Blair coming out of his room at the foot of the stairs, intent upon the same mission. Laughing, they pitched in together, squeezing fresh juice, mixing up the pancakes, chopping a fruit salad, grinding the coffee and setting it to perk, the rich aromas mingling in the air around them. Tomorrow, they'd go back to cereal, because it was quick and easy. But today, well, today was special.

They went to the station together in Jim's truck since there was no point, they thought, in taking separate vehicles. It would save on gas and parking costs and they could discuss cases, or what they wanted for dinner or needed at the store on the way to and fro…very efficient. Not even the overcast skies or the cool drizzle of rain mixed with tendrils of fog could dispel their sense of contentment, that all was right with the world. Looking over at Sandburg, Jim could believe that the kid had no regrets. A smile danced on the younger man's lips, a smile of anticipation and clear happiness, and his eyes were alight with energy and laughter. Blair could tell from Jim's air of quiet contentment that he was relaxed and happy as well, with no doubts about having a rookie for a full-fledged partner. They both figured that it was all going to work out perfectly. If the 'objective researcher' voice in Blair's mind whispered that such was the state of euphoria that it blinds one to the reality that nothing is ever perfect, its faint murmur was lost in the tumult of his joy in the day and his sense of peaceful contentment.

When they arrived, Blair was surprised and pleased to discover desks had been rearranged over the weekend to provide his own working space next to Jim's desk. There was a brass plaque with his name on it, a fresh blotter and all the office supplies he needed to get started. He fairly glowed with gratitude, and made certain to thank Rhonda for having stocked up the desk and gotten the name plaque ordered in time for it to be displayed on his first official day at work. 'Detective Blair Sandburg,' he thought to himself. 'Has a nice ring to it!' Everyone greeted him warmly and he settled down to work with the feeling of truly belonging. If he was scared of screwing up, and just a tad nervous about his new role, he hid it well, but both Jim and Joel picked up the vibes as the day wore on…eyes that were a little too bright, a smile that wavered when he thought no one was actually watching, energy that was just short of being frenetic.

"Relax, Chief," Jim murmured as he dropped a cup of coffee off at Blair's desk. "You don't have to do everything in one day…"

"Yeah, but there're so many calls to make to follow up on the weapons' trail, man," Blair countered, as he reached for the mug and blew on it with a mumbled, "Thanks, but I could have gotten this…you just had to ask."

"I know…but I don't mind getting my own, and yours, too, from time to time," Jim replied with an indulgent smile. Perching on the corner of Blair's desk, he sipped his own beverage, mindful of its heat, as he asked, "So, what do you make of these hijacks? They've been intermittent, unpredictable…we haven't been able to get a handle on them."

Pulling his glasses off, Blair sat back, his mug cradled in his hands. Nodding thoughtfully, having read the files the week before, he could see the problem. "There are so many possibilities…a leak from inside has to be part of it. But, why only on some of the shipments? And, is the leak with the military or the trucking company that holds the transportation contract? Is it logistics, dispatch, administration or one of the drivers? And, where are the weapons going? Where's the stuff being stockpiled…this is a scary lot of explosives and weapons to be hanging on to. What's the purpose…if we could figure that out, maybe we could work it from the other end…not who's leaking the information, but who's using it."

Jim nodded, a quizzical expression on his face, as he replied, "You've got the right questions, Chief. Now all we need to do is find the answers."

"Yeah," Blair murmured, sitting forward and setting his mug aside. "Which is why I've been making up these charts to correlate who is where when from the witness interviews, to see if there're any crossovers. So far, though, I haven't found much. I've also been working on this other list of possible purposes and targets…major upcoming events, political targets and civilian ones. Too many variables, man, way too many at this point."

"Which is why we haven't solved the case so far, Sandburg," Ellison agreed wearily as he stood and made his way to his own desk. Thinking about what Blair had said about possible targets, he reached over to snag that list and study it, adding some of his own ideas.

Toward the end of the day, Joel intercepted Blair as he returned from yet another foray into the labyrinth of internal administration.

"Hey, Blair, how's it going?" the older man asked with a warm smile.

"Oh, fine," Sandburg replied with a slight sigh. "I cannot believe how many forms have to be filled out whenever you start a new job, man. It's not like they don't have any information on me…I've been working here, well, sort of, for more than three years. They have all of this stuff, or most of it. I have to admit the 'beneficiary forms' and stuff like that are new…but, they've got my birthday, social insurance number, address, height, weight, physical description, routine urine test results…doesn't one admin officer talk to another down there? Aren't the files linked in a database? And they are _so Byzantine, so slow_ …a guy could grow old standing in line down there."

Shaking his head in amusement at the fast flow of chatter and offended sense of efficiency, finally laughing out loud, Joel looped an arm around the younger man's shoulders as he commiserated. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But, that's not what _I_ meant…how are _you_ doing, _Detective_ Sandburg?"

Blair paused in mid-tirade and blinked, then sighed as he relaxed. "Thanks for asking, Joel," he replied softly. "I'm doing okay…it's a little unnerving, you know. The responsibility. But…I'm excited about it all and…" he paused, then finished, "I'm really glad to be here. You guys have all been great…I can't tell you…"

"You don't have to 'tell' us anything," Joel cut in, his eyes warm with sincerity. "We're as glad to have you back as you are. Take it easy…you don't have a thing to prove to anyone, okay?"

Nodding, Blair swallowed and took a deep breath. "Okay," he murmured. "Thanks."

Joel slapped his back then returned to his desk while Blair went to his own, wishing he really didn't feel like he had to prove something…but he couldn't help it. Simon had gone out on a limb for him, Jim depended upon him and the others had all stood by him out of trust and friendship, even when the rest of the world had scorned him. He owed these guys…owed them all, big time. Sighing as he sat down, he plunged back into the files, his eyes darting from the paper records to the computer screen where he was trying to set up a program to identify causal relationships or even simple correlations. But, so far, nothing seemed to be connecting. Frowning, he wondered what they were missing…what factor or bit of information that as soon as they had it would seem so obvious. What angle had they all missed?

When Jim signaled it was time to go home, Blair was so engrossed in the problem he couldn't believe the day was already over. Reluctantly, he put his files away, turned off his computer and followed Ellison out of the office, nodding absentmindedly at the guy from the cleaning company as they passed in the hall. He didn't think anything of it when the guy didn't nod back…he'd been turning away, bending over his cart so he probably hadn't even noticed them passing by. The fleeting, only half conscious awareness of the custodian was gone as quickly as it came, his mind far more engaged with worrying over the myriad details of the case he was working on.

* * *

As the days of the first week slid by, Jim and Blair slipped back into the easy patterns they had known before, made even easier now that Sandburg wasn't flying between the university and the police station, juggling what amounted to two more than full time careers. They relaxed with it, enjoying one another's company and literally basking in the freedom to work together openly, with no constraints. Sandburg was finally getting enough sleep and he was rather surprised to notice what a difference that made in his energy levels…he could be alert, he discovered, without being frenetic like he'd been when he'd been going on adrenaline and not much else. The only frustration was that they weren't making any progress on their primary case, but both knew it took patience and perseverance, so the tension they both felt about it was manageable.

They were on their way home on Friday evening when Blair remembered they needed milk and a few other basic supplies and Jim figured it wouldn't hurt to fill up the tank of the truck. Rolling into a combination gas station/convenience store, Jim got out of the truck to handle the gas while Blair turned to the store. He froze when, through the glass walls, he saw an ill kempt, jumpy youth at the counter and what looked like a terror-stricken middle-aged woman nodding jerkily as she bent over the register.

"Jim," he called, his voice sharp but low. "I think we've got some trouble here. Possible robbery in progress."

Startled, Ellison looked up from where he'd been fiddling with the hose, inserting it into the tank, his eyes narrowing as he studied the scene playing out inside the store. "Right," he confirmed. "Stay here and call it in."

"Get real, man," Blair replied as he pulled his weapon out of the holster in the small of his back and, holding it to the side away from the store, he moved with a smooth unhurried gait until he was out of sight of the perpetrator. As he moved away, he whispered only loudly enough for a Sentinel to hear, "I'll take the back and distract him. _You_ get to disarm him."

"Sandburg!" Ellison hissed, his heart thumping as he watched his best friend slip around the side of the building, his gun now held in the required position, arms straight, muzzle pointed to the earth, as he loped out of sight. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, he pulled his own gun and held it to his side as he ambled toward the store's entrance, for all the world just another customer coming in to pay his bill. When he got inside, he pretended to be interested in some products on one of the shelves while out of the corner of his eye, he studied the disheveled youth, taking in the palpable air of jittery nerves, the twitching. He caught a glimpse of the gun the kid held close in front of his body, half hidden by his loose cloth jacket. His mouth dry, understanding the volatility of the situation, Ellison knew he needed to do this fast and clean before the kid lost it completely and ended up shooting either the woman behind the counter or a certain dangerously impetuous partner…said partner who was about to scare the shit out of the kid when he burst through the back door.

But, before he could move, the door to the back thumped open and Blair called out, "Police! Drop your weapon!"

The youth started like a trapped animal, turning in blind panic to snap off two wild shots toward the back door while Jim moved in from behind him, bringing the muzzle of his gun up against the kid's head, just behind his ear as he growled, "Police…drop it. NOW!"

The small handgun clattered to the floor as the youth began to sob in desperation. Ellison pushed him down, face first, until the kid was pressed over the countertop while he holstered his weapon and pulled out his cuffs. His movements were automatic, while he called out sharply, "Sandburg! I've got him. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jim, no sweat," Blair replied calmly as he took a quick look around the frame of the open door to ensure it was 'all clear' before moving forward, slipping his gun back into his holster as he entered. Studying the would-be thief, who was now standing a little hunched, his hands cuffed behind his back, Sandburg observed, "He looks strung out, man. He needs a hospital."

"They'll take care of him downtown," Ellison replied, his voice tight and a little distant. "Call for a patrol car to take him in and book him." And then he read the prisoner his rights.

Blair nodded, but first he turned to the woman behind the counter, who was pale and trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Hey, are you all right? It's okay…it's over. You're safe now," he soothed.

Her eyes wide, she turned her gaze to his and nodded as if she were in a daze, tears slipping unheeded down her face. Realizing she was in shock, Blair eased behind the counter and put an arm around her shoulders to give her a sense of stability and warmth as he pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial, calling in the back up. In minutes, two uniformed officers had arrived to take the woman's statement and transport the prisoner to the station.

Milk, basic supplies and gas forgotten, Ellison wheeled and stomped back to the truck. Sandburg, following on his heels, wasn't sure whether to grin with resignation or simply brace himself for the blast of fury. As soon as they'd reached the vehicle and were out of earshot of the others, Jim turned on Blair, looming over him as he grabbed the younger man's arm in a relentless, uncomfortably tight, grip. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he seethed.

"My job, Jim," Blair snapped back, giving as good as he got, his eyes hard. He was prepared to take a lot of crap for a lot of things from Jim Ellison but not this. It was too important. This had to be settled, and it had to be settled now. "I'm a cop, remember?"

"I know what you are, Sandburg," the larger man stormed. "I told you to call for backup, to stay by the truck and you disregarded me, the senior officer, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I noticed, man," Blair steamed back. "But, tell me this…would you have told Simon, or Rafe or H. or Megan or Joel to stay by the truck and call for back up for a simple gas station heist with a single perpetrator? Huh? _Well, would you?_ "

Ellison opened his mouth then snapped it back closed as he looked away. Relenting, Blair patted his arm as he said quietly, "I'm not a civilian anymore, Jim…I'm your partner, with _all_ that that means. You can't order me to just stay in the truck anymore…you _know_ that, man."

Ellison blew out a breath and willed himself to relax, easing his grip on Blair's arm but not letting go. Turning his head back to gaze down into his partner's earnest gaze, he shook his head. "I'm sorry…you're right. But, when you just took off, and I saw you with the gun in your hands…"

"Yeah, scary, isn't it," Blair quipped.

But, Ellison shook his head again as he swallowed. "I…I just want you safe, Chief…"

"I know, but you'll get used to it…hey, I had to get used to you going up against the bad guys," Blair soothed, moving his hand to gently pry Jim's fingers from his arm.

"I don't know if I can," Jim replied, amazed at the reality he hadn't seen coming…that he'd been denying unconsciously in the depths of his mind, again shaking his head dazedly as he looked away.

Blair's face grew stern as he answered with a determined strength, "Look at me, Jim." When his friend didn't immediately comply, Blair said again, more sharply, "LOOK at me!" When Jim's gaze met his own, Sandburg gave it to him straight. " _Get over it, Jim._ I'm a cop. I have a job to do just like you do, which means I now have responsibilities to the people of Cascade, not just to a certain hard-headed partner! I know what I'm doing…I won't take stupid chances and you're going to have to learn to trust me. Or this won't work. Understand?"

After a long moment of looking deeply into Sandburg's eyes and reading the determination there, Ellison nodded and took a step back. "Yeah, I understand. And, you're right. It was just…just a shock. I didn't think…just reacted. I'm sorry."

Blair rewarded him with a teasing grin. "It's okay," he said with easy good humour. "Simon said the first time you saw me with a gun in my hand it would blow you away." Turning to get back into the truck, he asked, "So, what do you want for dinner. I don't really feel like doing any more shopping tonight…how does Chinese sound?"

"Sounds fine, Chief," Ellison called back as he gave himself a mental shake and turned to circle the truck, thinking this new relationship was going to take some getting used to. "Sounds just fine."

* * *

Blair spared Jim the indignity of sharing their little confrontation with anyone else. But, Simon Banks was no fool, and when he saw the report of the arrest on his desk on Monday morning, he decided he was in the mood for a little amusement. Looking up from his desk and out into the bullpen, he bellowed, "Ellison, my office!"

Blair looked up and met Jim's gaze with a curious expression. When Jim shrugged, Blair stood to follow him in, figuring it probably had something to do with the case they were working on. But, when he got to the door, Simon stopped him with a steely gaze as he inquired with exaggerated forbearance, "Is your name 'Ellison'?"

"Uh…no, Captain," Blair stammered.

"Then, I didn't call you, did I?" Simon continued, really quite enjoying himself for all that his face was stony and his tone sarcastic.

"No sir, I guess you didn't. Sorry," Sandburg mumbled as, with a wide-eyed look of 'what's this all about?' to Jim, he turned away.

"Close the door, Jim," Simon directed as he leafed through the file in front of him, "and have a seat."

Once Ellison had settled in front of him, Simon looked up, his expression less intimidating. "Want a cup of coffee?"

"No, sir, thank you. You wanted to discuss something?" Jim prompted.

"Uh huh. I see you and your partner interrupted a robbery in progress Friday night on the way home," Simon observed, gesturing toward the file.

"That's right. It was a straightforward apprehension of a strung out kid while he was in the process of holding up a convenience store. Nothing special," Ellison confirmed, giving the basic facts.

"How did Sandburg do?" Banks asked, his tone mild.

"Just fine, sir…by the book. No problems," Jim replied, holding his superior's gaze.

"Good," Simon replied, picking up a cigar to fiddle with, as his eyes bore into Ellison's gaze. "And, you, how did _you_ do, Detective?"

Jim's gaze skittered away, and he had the grace to blush softly while he shrugged, searching for words. "Well, sir, I could have done better," he finally admitted.

"Care to explain that, Jim?" Simon pushed, wanting the details, the trace of a smile playing around his lips.

Hanging his head, shaking it a little, Jim finally caught on to the game. Smiling slightly, he looked back up at his boss as he admitted, "You would have won your bet, Simon…I wasn't ready for it. Blair said you told him that you figured I'd freak out…you were right."

"Uh huh," Simon grunted, pleased that his knowledge of his people was once again confirmed. "Details, Ellison, I want details."

"You are a cruel man, Simon, you know that, don't you?" Ellison quipped back, but sighed with resignation. He knew his boss, his friend, was just giving him the chance to talk out something that had been harder than he'd ever imagined it would be. "I ordered him to stay with the truck and get backup. He told me to 'get real', that he was heading to the back to create the distraction. Then he was off, no hesitation, no discussion…and I saw him pull out his gun on the way, ready for action." Ellison paused as he looked up and saw empathy in the dark eyes that studied him, all trace of the teasing gone.

"Our little boy is all grown up, Jim," Simon observed dryly.

"You can say that again," Ellison agreed with a nod. "When I blasted him afterward, he reamed me out good. Told me he was just doing his job, that I'd just have to get used to it, 'get over' wanting to protect him…or this wouldn't work. He was right on all counts, Simon. I can't believe I wasn't ready for it."

Simon scratched his jaw as he observed, "Well, you've had more than three years to pretty much order him around…you probably just reacted out of habit. And, well, it's okay to want to protect him, to keep him safe. He's your partner, after all…you just have to understand that sometimes it won't be possible."

Ellison nodded, grimacing with chagrined agreement. "Was that all, sir?"

"Yep, that's all, Jim. Get back to work. I'd like to see some progress on these weapons' heists," Simon replied, waving him toward the door.

"We're working on it, sir," Jim assured him as he took his leave.

Watching him leave, Simon's gaze shifted to catch Blair's concerned look. The captain gave a slight smile and a wink, then turned back to the files on his own desk. For a moment, Blair didn't know what the non-verbal message meant, but when he saw Jim's slight blush and weary amusement, he figured it out. Relieved that Simon had only been assuring himself that Jim could live with the new reality, Blair turned back to work on the frustrating files on his desk.

When his phone rang a couple of hours later, and he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he was glad Jim had wandered off somewhere on some errand or other. "Eli…" Blair exclaimed softly, with immediate recognition. "I…I guess you got the copies of my proposed dissertation."

"Yes, I did, thank you," the old professor's voice confirmed, his tone remote and impersonal. "I'd like to see you, if it's convenient either later today or tomorrow, for an hour or so, to discuss your oral defence. If you agree, I'd like to schedule the defence itself for Friday afternoon."

"Of course, sure, whatever is good for you," Blair stammered, his heart aching at the coldness in his former mentor and good friend's voice. He pressed his eyes closed and worked hard to keep his voice steady as he asked, "What time this afternoon and Friday would you like to hold the meetings?"

They worked out the details and Blair gently lowered the receiver to its cradle. Head down, he wondered if now was the time to tell Jim, but again he had the uncomfortable feeling that it was being rushed through for form, not substance, a kind of sick charade. Though he hated to think Eli would be a party to such a thing. Still…better to let it play out. If he was wrong, and they granted him his doctorate, he'd have good news to share, not uncertain and anxious speculations. Checking the calendar, he noted that Jim had a dentist appointment that afternoon and breathed a sigh of relief…and on Friday, Jim was in court all day. So, he wouldn't have to try to explain why he wasn't at the station. But, looking up toward Simon's office, he realized he had an obligation to his boss to let him know why he'd be absent from duty for a couple of hours twice this week.

Once Jim had left for his routine appointment, Blair strode to Simon's office, knocking briefly then asking, "Ah, Captain, could I have a minute?"

"Sure, Sandburg, come on in. I hear you made a righteous bust Friday night. Good work," Simon replied, waving him toward a chair.

"Thanks, Si..er, sir," Blair stammered a little. Moving restlessly, he finally settled into a chair and blurted out, "Simon, I got a letter from the university a couple of weeks ago, saying they thought they'd acted precipitously and offering me an opportunity to submit my dissertation."

"Whoa!" Simon exclaimed, sitting back, clearly shocked. "Just slow down a minute. What brought this about? Did you ask for a review?"

"No sir, I'm as surprised as you are and, frankly, I have no idea why they are giving me this chance," Blair replied, his gaze open and clear. "But…well, I want to try, Simon. I've sent them my paper on 'The Thin Blue Line'…I'd actually finished it months ago as…well, it doesn't matter. My advisor just called and wants to see me this afternoon…and the formal oral defence will be on Friday."

"Funny that Jim hasn't mentioned anything about this," Simon observed, his gaze sharp. "You haven't told him, have you?"

Shaking his head, Blair lifted his hands and let them fall, an unconsciously helpless gesture. "No," he replied. "I don't want him to get excited about it…it might just be a scam, to protect them legally from expelling me without due process. He feels bad enough about what went down. So…well, if it's good news, I can tell him…if it isn't, well, he doesn't need to know about it."

"I see," Simon murmured. Frowning, he had to ask, "If you get your Ph.D., does that mean you'll be resigning from the department?

"NO!" Blair exclaimed. Shaking his head to reinforce his words, he repeated, "No…I want to be Jim's partner. It's just that… it would give me validation, Simon…and closure. Can you understand?"

Nodding somberly, Simon pulled off his glances and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he replied, "Yes, Blair, I can understand. Go on, get out of here. See your advisor and good luck. Let me know how it all works out."

"Absolutely, sir," Blair confirmed readily with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Sandburg," Simon observed quietly, as Blair stood to leave, "I know you and Jim try to protect each other. But, the two of you seem to do a lot better when you're not keeping secrets from one another. You might want to let him know what's happening."

Pausing for a moment, Blair thought about that. "Yeah…I appreciate the advice, Captain," he said then turned away.

Shaking his head, Simon muttered to himself, "I'm going to have to watch that kid…he tends to use 'Captain' instead of my name whenever he doesn't really agree with me. I wonder if he knows that?"

* * *

It felt odd to drive back onto the campus grounds and park outside of Rainier…and then Blair thought it felt odd to feel odd. He'd spent almost half his life on this campus…for a long time, the old weathered buildings had been the closest thing to home he'd ever really had. With no little trepidation, he crossed the parking lot, his head a little down, avoiding eye contact with anyone who passed by, hoping to get in and out without any terminally embarrassing incident.

He hesitated for a moment outside his advisor's door, then rapped on the panel as he hovered uncertainly in the open doorway. Dr. Eli Stoddard looked up from the text he was reading and nodded, waving Blair in to sit down across the desk from him.

"You're looking well," the professor observed. "I heard you'd become a police officer."

"That's right. I graduated from the Academy two weeks ago," Blair confirmed.

"A strange occupation for you, some might think," Eli remarked dryly. "Let me guess…you are now officially Jim Ellison's partner, not just his civilian observer."

Smiling slightly, trying to relax, Blair nodded as he confirmed, "Yes, sir, I started officially last Monday."

"Hmmm," the professor murmured as he studied Blair for a long moment, as if waiting for something more, and when it wasn't forthcoming, he looked away, a shadow of regret in his eyes.

Finding the silence uncomfortable, Blair said quietly, "I'm sorry, sir, for…for letting you down."

The alert and intelligent eyes snapped back to his as Eli replied sharply, "You should be sorry. You did let me down…but I suspect we're not talking about the same things. You didn't trust me, Blair. You didn't come to me for help when the confusion got out of hand."

Surprised, Blair gaped at his professor for a moment, then replied with abject apology, "Oh please…don't ever think I don't trust you. It's just that…it was such a mess. And I didn't want to drag you into it. God, Eli…" his voice cracked, but he swallowed to force himself to continue, "I had to discredit the document… myself…I didn't want any of that dirt tarnishing your reputation. You've been everything to me here…my mentor, my friend. I was hurting you badly enough without…"

"Enough, Blair," the professor cut in. "Enough self-recrimination and flagellation. What's done is done. But don't you dare presume that I in any way believed that sham of a press conference. That, indeed, would be insulting."

"You didn't believe…" Blair murmured, stunned. "But…I assumed…you didn't call…"

The old professor sighed wearily as he shook his head. "Blair…Blair…how long have I known you? More than twelve years, since you were sixteen years old. I've watched you grow and mature, your brilliance shining ever more brightly as the years went by…your enthusiasm as intact as the day you arrived. I'm the first one with whom you discussed your outlandish theories of the possible existence of sentinels…and I'm the one who agreed with you that maybe you weren't so crazy after all to hope that you might find one. For the last four years, you've provided me with regular updates and meticulous reports of your observations and experiences with your 'source'…and I watched you, saw you become ever more involved with James Ellison, more a friend than a researcher. I worried about your objectivity…because I'd long ago figured out who your 'source' was. But, I never worried about your integrity. The only lies you told were in front of that camera, to protect your source since we hadn't yet determined how to safeguard his privacy. How could you possibly imagine that I would believe you had deceived me for the last four years…that I would not know the difference between manufactured and carefully documented scientific evidence?"

Blair's face was bleak as he gazed at his professor and then looked away. "I guess you must think I'm a fool," he sighed.

"No, I think you are a very principled man, even a courageous one. But, I could wish you had come to me, that we might have looked at the options…" Eli replied, his tone objective but there was a trace of compassion underlying the words.

Swallowing, Blair nodded. "I thought about it," he replied softly. "I wanted to…but it all went bad so fast. And Jim…well, I had to choose, Eli, between my career and my friend. I couldn't have both, not at that point. It had gone too far with the media frenzy. It had gone way too far."

The professor sighed as he reflected, "I thought it was likely something like that. Which is why I didn't call. You had made your choice and I didn't want to make it any more difficult for you than it was. Because, I would have fought back, you see…I'm not happy with the sacrifice you've made. This field needs you, Blair…needs your passion and insight, your creative intuition and brilliant analysis. I suppose I was angry with you…I'm sorry."

Blair bit his lip and held his breath as he fought back the emotion that surged over him…the relief that Eli understood and didn't despise him was overwhelming. He blinked rapidly, then sniffed and took one grounding breath and then another. Of all the people whose opinion and regard he valued, there were few who mattered to him more than this astute and distinguished man who had been his rock for so many years.

Silently, Eli stood and circled the desk to lay an arm around Blair's quivering shoulders and draw the younger man tight against his side. "It's alright, son…you're allowed to grieve all that you have freely given away…your future and dreams, your good reputation. You may have done what was right, lad, but that doesn't mean it didn't break your heart."

Blair's hand came up to cover his mouth, to hold back the sob, but the tears he tried to deny streamed down his face. "Oh, Eli…" he whispered as he moved to wrap his arms around his mentor and oldest friend. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to weep…the first time someone who really understood what he'd done, what it had cost him, had told him they still believed in him. Eli was the closest he had to a father figure and the hardest part of what he'd done had been his belief that he'd betrayed this man, betrayed the love and friendship, the trust…the belief that he'd forever lost someone who was a part of his soul.

Silently, Eli braced him and stroked his hair, letting him get it out, allowing him his grief and sorrow.

Finally, the tears slowed and Blair took a deep shuddering breath, embarrassed to have lost it so badly, but knowing he'd been denying his own right and need to grieve for too long. He brushed the wetness from his face and eyes, pulling a little away from the man who lent him such unwavering support. "Thanks, Eli," he murmured, then looked up to find kind and compassionate eyes looking down at him. "You don't know what it means to me to know you don't despise me. I never wanted to hurt you…or disappoint you."

"I know, son, I know," Eli replied, gently massaging Blair's shoulders until the tremors had all stopped. When Blair heaved another, much steadier sigh, the professor slapped him on the back and returned to his chair on the other side of the desk. He looked steadily into Blair's eyes as he said, "I will respect your confidence with regard to your Sentinel, but you need to consider that I might not have been the only person in the world who knows you well enough to be convinced that press conference was balderdash. Someday, Blair, James Ellison is going to have learn to deal with who and what he is."

Soberly, Blair nodded, torn between feeling that his deception and sacrifice might have all been in vain and relief that not everyone in his life believed him a fraud…and that was all mixed up with sudden alarm about the implications all this had for Jim. Too much input, too much going on in his life. He needed to find time to process it all, to make some kind of sense of it so that he could then help Jim come to grips with the fact that maybe it was impossible to put the genie back into the bottle.

"Alright, now, let's turn to this opportunity to complete the requirements for your doctorate. I've read through the paper you sent me, and it's very good. Your research is contrasted and grounded with other very credible studies, your observations astute and insightful. Though I'm mildly irritated to know that this is no more than a secondary piece, written as a blind in many respects, that in no way takes away from its scholarship. You've built well upon those outlines and excerpts you've shared with me over the past year, and the analysis and conclusions follow nicely upon several of the articles you've written on the police sub-culture since you began your role as an observer three years ago. This paper is a very sound piece of work, and taken with the other more focused papers on specific elements, shapes an impressive body of research on the subject. On it's own merit, excellent work…as a blind, truly brilliant." Eli paused and shook his head as he murmured, "Two dissertations, a teaching job, research and all that time working with the police. I'm not sure how you crammed it all in."

"Yeah, well," Blair offered deprecatingly, "it all kind of overlaps…the time at the police station was my primary research time for both papers, and well, I had to be publishing regularly to maintain my position as a teaching fellow…not to mention hold the rights to that upgrade office from the dungeon I was in a couple of years ago. And, it wasn't all that much extra work, actually. There are parallels between the police subculture and the behavioural characteristics and psychological control elements exhibited by the Sentinel. No surprise there, I guess."

"Well, knowing you, this achievement isn't all that surprising…and I'll bet you decided sleep was a waste of time that could be better spent on other activities," Eli smiled, teasing Blair to be sure, but nevertheless certain he was right.

Blair just dipped his head and grinned impishly as he nodded.

"Alright, you didn't object when I suggested an early defence so I assume you feel prepared?" Eli confirmed.

"Yes, I'm ready. I've been living and breathing this stuff for almost four years…and if we don't do it soon, my objectivity will be challenged. I've crossed 'the thin blue line'…I guess you could say I've 'gone native," Blair replied, with no hint of humour. He was perfectly serious.

"My thoughts, exactly," Eli agreed. "Alright, son…that's all we needed to cover today. We'll go ahead on Friday at 2:00 here in this office. I expect we will have a decision shortly as the Chancellor is rather anxious to resolve this situation."

 _Sweep it under the rug, more like_ , Blair thought to himself, but asked instead, "Eli, do you know why I've been granted this chance? Did you have something to do with it?"

"I certainly hope so," the professor replied, thoughtfully. "But the displeasure of a few obscure professors in the Anthropology and Philosophy departments wouldn't have swayed her, not on our own. I know a good number of students from your classes over the years made their own protests, not believing the press conference any more than a number of the faculty did. None of could see any legitimate reason for them to penalize you for a paper you never did submit as authentic research. But…the unholy rush to resolve the situation with the grudging offer if you could meet a completely unrealistic deadline, no doubt with the hope of catching you napping," he grinned a little at that impossibility, then continued, "no…I think there must have been some outside pressure, but whatever it was or where it came from, I have no idea. The SheDemon has no love for you, Blair. She would not have conceded this if she'd felt she had a choice in the matter."

"Well…whoever and whatever…I'm grateful. To you and the others. I never expected this chance to finish my doctorate," Blair replied sincerely. "Thank you for believing in me, even when I didn't make it easy."

"What will you do with the doctorate, Blair, if the university finally awards it to you? Will you return to Anthropology?" Eli asked, a wistful note in his voice.

Shaking his head, looking uncertain, Sandburg replied, "Honestly? I don't know what I'll do with a Ph.D. I'm committed now to my work with Jim and the police department. But…who knows, Eli? I never expected to be a cop…I sure can't say that I never expect to teach again, or work in a university milieu. I've decided I need a new crystal ball."

Smiling, Eli sighed and waved to the door. "Be off with you, Blair. I'll see you on Friday. When all this is over and done, let's try to get back to our regular monthly dinners. I've missed you, son."

Blair tilted his head as he smiled softly in return. "I've missed you, too, Eli…I'd like to see you often."

Standing, Sandburg turned to the door as he said, "See you Friday." But, when he reached the portal, he turned back and hesitated a moment before he asked quietly, "You do know I love you, don't you?"

"I know, son…I've known that for a long time, just as you've always known I feel the same way about you. Now go on, or they'll be challenging my own objectivity to assess your academic contributions," Eli replied with a chuckle, love and laughter flashing in his eyes.

* * *

Simon's words had given him pause, and Eli's observations only strengthened Blair's sense that he couldn't keep any of this from Jim any longer. Besides, he felt so damned good about it all, especially about restoring his relationship with his mentor and old friend, that Sandburg felt like celebrating. Stopping off at the market, he bought the fixings for one of Jim's favourite meals…steak and baked potatoes with a good bottle of burgundy, and some greens and fruit to balance the meal and satisfy himself.

Once back in the loft, he set the steaks to marinate, opened the bottle to breathe, and whipped up the spinach, toasted almond and tangerine salad as well as the poppy seed dressing to go with it. He'd flipped on the stereo and was bouncing with the drums, chanting a little unconsciously under his breath when Jim arrived home. The Sentinel had picked up the beat of the drums as soon as he stepped out of his truck and looked up toward the loft with surprise in his eyes. Blair hadn't played tribal music since…since he'd turned his back on anthropology. Hell, he hadn't blasted any music that loud in months. Jim smiled with indulgence and relief. Sandburg was getting back to normal…finally and at very long last.

He was just heading into the building when his cell chirped for his attention. Flipping it open, he said, "Ellison," as he started up the steps.

"Jimmy!" his father's voice came back at him, sounding as jubilant as the music that filled the stairwell.

"Hey, Dad," Ellison replied, blocking his other ear with his hand to hear better. "What's up?"

"It worked, Jimmy! I just got a letter from the Chancellor at Rainier…they're giving Blair a chance to finish his doctorate. She said they had received his dissertation and are moving forward with the process in short order. But…I guess you already know that."

There was a hint of the 'I wished you'd have let me know,' in his father's voice and Jim floundered. Looking up the stairwell to the apartment above, he tried to sound…what? normal?…as he answered, "Well, we wanted to be sure it was good news, Dad."

But, he knew he sounded flat.

His father didn't seem to notice. "Oh, I can understand that. I just wanted you and Blair to know how pleased I am, really pleased that he's going to get a fair chance. Give him my best, Jimmy," William Ellison replied, his voice warm and genuinely happy.

"I will, Dad…thanks," Jim remembered to add before they terminated the call. "Thanks for doing this for Blair."

"My pleasure, son," his father responded, asking to be kept posted on events before he ended the call.

"Yeah," Jim sighed as he flipped the cell closed and returned it to his pocket. "You'll know as soon as I do, Dad…maybe even before, from the looks of things." Swallowing hard, trying to keep his first instinct toward anger in check, Ellison trudged up the remaining steps and across the hall to the door. He could smell the marinating steaks, the scent of the salad dressing and the lighter bouquet of the wine. Blair was preparing a celebration…guess, maybe, he'd decided to share the good news. _Well, better late than never, eh, Ellison?_ Jim thought bitterly.

Reaching for the doorknob, he was irritated to see that his fingers were trembling and he stopped to pull himself together. This was potentially wonderful news for Blair and could give him the chance to go back to the life he'd loved. The life where he was safe. Where there were no guns, no monsters.

But, for a Sentinel who had believed his partner was finally securely and firmly allied with him, for a man who sought guarantees, who needed to know where he was at in his life, needed control, the news was devastating.

He recalled his father had said that Blair apparently had already submitted his dissertation. What dissertation? Suddenly, he felt his temper flare. Why the hell didn't the kid ever tell him what was going on? Why was he always finding things out after the fact? Dammit…

Pushing open the door, Ellison entered the loft, his expression tight as he surveyed the preparation for a minor feast. Hell, Sandburg had even lit a few of his candles. Sneezing, he peeled off his jacket, avoiding Blair's eyes as his roommate looked up and called with a smile, "Hey, man, want some wine?"

Turning back to Sandburg, Ellison gestured toward the table set with a linen cloth and the wine as he observed with a carefully controlled voice, "Looks like you're planning a party, Chief. Got a hot date?"

"No, man…this is for us. I got some great news today…" Blair began, but Jim waved him off as he moved with great deliberation to turn down the music. "Oh, sorry, Jim…a little too loud, I guess," Blair apologized, but then tried to carry on with his news. "Anyway, as I was saying…"

"You've got a chance to salvage your Ph.D.," Jim supplied, his voice tight, his eyes flat. "That's great, Chief. I'm glad you finally decided to tell me."

Blair was floored. "How did you know?" he asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Dad just called and told me," Ellison replied, deciding he could use a drink after all. Moving to the cupboard, he pulled out a goblet and poured himself a healthy portion, not bothering to offer any to Sandburg.

"Your father?" Blair repeated, even more confused. He'd thought fleetingly that maybe Simon had said something. "How did he know?"

Blowing out a long breath, Jim replied, "I told you when he called a couple of months ago that he wasn't happy about how the university treated you. He spoke to some people on the Board, wrote a letter…he just got the reply that you'd submitted your dissertation. But, that's not the point here…why didn't you tell me, Sandburg? I mean, this is pretty big news. And, I _thought_ I was your best friend. Oh, and by the way, just what dissertation did you submit?"

"Hey, slow down a minute, Jim. You don't need to make like the Grand Inquisitor," Blair replied, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. His exuberance had been overlaid by surprise…but that heady feeling of happiness was fast fading in the glare of those cold blue eyes. This definitely was _not_ going the way he had planned. Taking a breath when it seemed Jim wasn't going to say anything more, was just waiting less than patiently for his questions to be answered, Blair told him, "It was the paper I wrote on 'The Thin Blue Line', my back up dissertation if I couldn't win a guarantee of confidentiality on The Sentinel paper. I finished it shortly after we got back from Mexico."

Jim had the grace to wince a little at that, their respective memories of Mexico and its aftermath not being all that pleasant. _The recovery time_ , he thought, _when Blair got out of the hospital. He must have worked on it then._ "Why didn't you tell me it was done? Or submit it if it was ready?" he asked, tone neutral, face expressionless.

Sighing, Blair replied, "Because if that paper was finished then I didn't have a reason anymore to keep observing the Major Crimes Unit, did I? And my pass would have been revoked. Besides, it was just a backup. I had hoped… well, it doesn't matter now what I'd hoped."

Nodding to himself, Ellison asked, "When did you find out that you were getting another chance?"

"Two weeks ago. I got a letter from the Chancellor," Blair replied, and then rushed on, "I didn't tell you because I thought it was some kind of charade, that they weren't serious. I didn't know your Dad had been pulling strings…that _anybody_ really cared that my _academic_ career was down the tubes. It was a surprise, and I didn't trust it…her. I thought I'd wait to see if it was for real before I said anything to you…I _thought_ you'd be happy for me, man, and…if it was a charade, if they didn't really plan to ever grant me a doctorate, well, I didn't want to drag you through that."

"What made you think the offer wasn't serious?" Ellison asked, relenting a little, understanding Blair's reasoning. Nor had he missed the subtle slams in Blair's statement. Blair had thought he didn't care, didn't understand the magnitude of the sacrifice he'd made…God, how could he think that? Had thought he'd be 'happy'…he _should_ be happy, Jim told himself. So, why did it feel as if his gut had turned into a great yawning chasm of emptiness?

"Fine," Blair muttered under his breath, brushing past Ellison to go to his room. When he returned, he handed the letter to Jim, saying abruptly, "You tell me if you would have thought that was a serious offer."

Setting his glass of wine on the table, Jim opened the letter and scanned the contents. Sighing, he nodded as he read. No wonder Sandburg had thought there was something fishy about it all. Ten days? If he hadn't already finished the paper, he wouldn't have had a chance of meeting that deadline. "Okay," Jim said quietly as he folded the letter and handed it back to Blair. "I see your point. But," he gestured at the table, and the air toward the stereo, "something's changed to make you believe this might be legitimate."

"Yeah," Blair replied, staring down at the letter then turning his gaze back to Jim's intent eyes. "I saw Eli today. He…he never believed the press conference. He told me that he and some of the other professors, and some of the students, had lobbied the Chancellor to give me another chance. The paper is solid, he thinks, and we've scheduled the oral defence for Friday afternoon. He said I should have a decision quickly."

Nodding, Jim looked away as he picked up his glass. "Good…that's good, Chief. Congratulations," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Failing miserably.

Blair studied his friend, noting the dismal posture and the reluctance to meet his eyes. Blowing out a long breath, he tried to get his own irritation and disappointment in Jim's reaction under control. He was supposed to be the guide here and his Sentinel sure looked like one lost puppy.

"Jim, what is going on with you, man? I mean, I know you didn't like hearing about this from your father instead of me, but I had no idea he was even involved. You didn't tell me that, no doubt for the same reasons…so that I wouldn't get my hopes up. But…you look like you just lost your best friend. What's that about?" Blair demanded, his tone reasonable, but clearly expecting answers.

Sighing, Jim shook his head ruefully. "I don't know, Chief," he murmured, then raised his gaze to meet Blair's eyes. "I am happy for you. If you get a chance to get your doctorate, that's great. You deserve it."

Blair cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting his head forward in an exaggerated listening posture as he waved with his hands for more. "But…?" he encouraged. When Jim still hesitated, he pressed, "You look so miserable because…?"

Heaving out a long sigh, Ellison finally admitted, "Because I like having you as my partner…and if you get your Ph.D., you'll go back to the university…"

Or worse, Jim thought as he remembered the words in the letter. If Blair couldn't get a job at Rainier, he might actually move away.

Jim paled so visibly at that thought that Blair took his arm and half dragged him to a chair next to the table, as he murmured to himself, "Desertion, why is it always about _'desertion'_ with you, man?"

Pulling out a chair for himself and shifting it so that his knees almost touched Jim's when he sat down across the corner of the table, Blair said quietly as he laid a hand on Ellison's forearm, "Jim, listen to me and listen to me good. I'm not going to stop being a cop…I'm not going to stop being your partner. Not right away, anyway…maybe not ever. There's no way I'd get a job at Rainier after all that's happened, and there's no way I'd move away. But, I want this, Jim. I worked hard for it. I want to feel like I didn't fail. I'd really like it if you could be glad about this, happy for me. Is that so hard?"

Ashamed, relieved, still feeling out of control and a little lost, Ellison shook his head as he looked back into Blair's earnest gaze. _God, he asks so little, and gives so much_ , he thought. _Why can't it ever be enough for me?_ Out loud, he replied with deep sincerity, "No, Chief, it's not that hard…and it's not much to ask. I'm sorry, really sorry that…that I get so…I don't know. Crazy, I guess. I really hope this all works out for you. I _mean_ it, you deserve it. This is only right. You worked harder than anyone I know. You're brilliant and…well, I AM happy for you. So…can we pretend I just arrived, and you can tell me your good news…and we can celebrate the way news like this deserves?"

"No, we can't pretend all that," Blair replied, but his lips curved into a soft smile. "However, we can celebrate." Standing, he poured himself a glass of wine, clicked his glass with Jim's and sipped as he continued to study his Sentinel over the rim of his glass. "Why don't you get the steaks on and I'll mix up the salad?"

Over dinner, Blair told Jim about his reunion with Eli. "I gotta tell you, Jim…restoring my relationship with him means a whole lot more to me than getting three fancy letters behind my name. It was such a relief to realize he didn't loathe the sight of me," Sandburg confided, his voice warm and his eyes distant with the reflected happiness he'd felt that afternoon. "He's a great man, and he's very special to me."

"I know, Chief…I'm glad he believes in you. Anybody who really knows you knows you aren't capable of anything dishonorable," Jim replied quietly.

Blair frowned a little at the words, and Jim wondered what he'd said wrong this time, but when Sandburg spoke, it was clear the frown wasn't meant for him, but was a mark of concern. "Funny you should say it like that. Eli said something similar today…and he warned me that that means there may be some other people out there who don't believe my dissertation was quite as fraudulent as I claimed it to be. That could be a problem for you, Jim…we need to think about that," Blair explained, worry in his eyes and voice.

Jim chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about it. Then he nodded as he replied, "Eli's right and we should have both realized that, I guess. You made an incredible sacrifice for me, but, like I said, people who know you know that there had to be a lot more to the story. Look at the guys down at the station. They don't believe you're any kind of fraud…which has to mean they're wondering just what is the truth about me and my senses." Jim sighed, feeling suddenly as if his world was beginning to close in on him and he was so desperately tired of trying to hold it all back.

"Yeah," Blair sighed as well, leaning back. _So much for my 'sacrifice'_ , he thought dismally.

But then he reminded himself that he wouldn't have gone to the Academy otherwise, and here he was, going to get his doctorate anyway, or at least it looked like it, so things really did have a way of working out. 'Except for Jim,' he thought, turning his gaze back to his best friend. _How do we protect him from anything like that media hell he went through the last time this came out? And, if I can't protect him, how do I help him prepare for it? Help him survive it?_

Deciding he didn't have the answers at hand, Blair shifted to gather up the dishes and stood to take them to the sink. "We'll work it out, Jim, just not tonight," he said, injecting a note of confidence into his voice that he didn't actually feel. "A kind of 'controlled release' program of information dissemination, maybe, so that by the time people realize what they know, it's old news."

Ellison shook his head silently. He couldn't imagine a world in which people just took his senses for granted. Hell, they were his senses and he wasn't even comfortable with them. But, Blair was right; together they'd find some way of working it out. So long as Blair stayed with him, to help him handle the craziness, he'd be okay.

Looking up at his friend's back as Blair began to wash up, he recalled Blair's assurances that he wasn't going anywhere.

But, there was no guarantee of that, not now. Sighing, Ellison rubbed his neck. It seemed there never were any guarantees, not the ones he most wanted out of life, anyway, that was for damned sure.

* * *

The next morning, they brought Simon up to date and together they hashed out how they might make a beginning at revealing something of what Jim was capable of. Since everybody on the team already suspected most of it, they decided that in the future Ellison would be less circumspect about hiding what he was doing with them when he was working with them. But, that was as far as Jim was prepared to go, at least at that point. Maybe later, once they saw how the guys reacted, maybe then they could talk about the next step.

Their work on the weapons' heists was put on the shelf for a good part of that week when they needed to pitch in and help Rafe and H. with the drug smuggling case they'd been assigned. Working their snitches, brainstorming scenarios, putting bits and pieces of information together, they managed to anticipate the deal going down and had a force in place to catch the perpetrators in the midst of the transaction Thursday night. During the operation, Jim managed to control his anxiety about Sandburg's safety in such a potentially volatile situation, and he hoped that no one could see how nervous he felt, or know his palms were sweating. Blair demonstrated his competence with a calm and steady professionalism…if he was afraid, or worried about having to fire his weapon, nobody could tell. Except Jim, who could see the fine tremors roll through his partner's body. But, everything went like clockwork. It was a righteous bust that everyone felt really good about as they wrapped it up around midnight.

Sandburg's oral defence Friday afternoon wasn't a breeze, but neither was it unjust. There were tough, insightful questions, challenges to some of his conclusions, but he was confident of his material, able to answer with ease and assurance, effectively arguing his points. He could tell from the look on Eli's face that he'd done well as the session concluded. Now, he just had to wait for the final decision.

All in all, a pretty good week.

* * *

Blair got the call late Tuesday afternoon. "You did it, son," Eli said with great satisfaction. "Congratulations, Blair…I'm proud of you."

" _Oh, wow_ ," Sandburg breathed, looking up with a broadening smile at Jim who'd heard the tone of wonder…and now saw the brilliance of excitement and unbridled happiness dancing in Blair's eyes. "Thanks, Eli…I don't know what to say!"

His advisor laughed at the tone of almost childlike delight in his protégé's voice. "Well, you don't have to say anything at all, if you don't want to. Just feel really good, Blair. It's been a long time coming and you have more than earned it. I've spoken with the Chancellor and she has agreed to a quiet ceremony, again here in my office if you concur, before the end of the month. I'd like you to feel free to invite anyone you would like to see you receive your doctorate, but I'm afraid we'll have to limit the numbers to no more than twenty…the office just isn't that big."

"Twenty?" Blair repeated, delighted. "Hey, that's more than enough space, Eli…you just let me know when, and I'll be there."

"I'm sure you will," the professor chuckled again. "I'll get back to you in a couple of weeks, once we know when all the required administrivia is complete and your sheepskin is ready. We can make some arrangements for dinner then, as well. Alright?"

"More than alright, Eli…this is wonderful, really awesome, man…really! I'll look forward to hearing from you!" Blair replied, a broad smile lighting his face. Putting down the phone, he murmured softly, as if still in a state of wonder, to Jim, _"I did it!"_ Then, as it fully hit, he was on his feet, doing a victory dance, hair flying as his shoes beat a joyous tattoo into the floor. Startled by his behaviour and Ellison's laughter and enthusiastic applause, all eyes turned to them and Simon came to his office door. "That's great, Chief," Ellison was calling out. "Really, really great!"

"What's going on out here?" the Captain bellowed. "Sandburg…what is that? Some kind of ritual mating dance?"

Pausing in midstep, Sandburg raised his glowing face to Simon's, as he called back, "I did it, Simon! I'm being awarded my doctorate!"

Banks' face burst into a broad grin of delight as he strode into the bullpen, his arms wide as he cried, "Congratulations, Blair! That's great news!"

"Does this mean someone can tell Naomi her little boy has finally graduated?" H. called out with a snicker.

"Seems like," Rafe called back. Though they'd both been taken by surprise, not realizing the doctorate was any kind of possibility, there was no denying their delight or the pride they felt at the news. Sandburg was one of them. When he did good, they all felt good.

Joel walked in then from the hall, to see the amazing sight of Simon hugging Blair and Jim pounding on the kid's back while everyone else stood around cheering and clapping.

"Hey, what did I miss?" he called into the confusion.

"Hairboy's getting his P.H.D.!" H. called back, with loud emphasis on the lofty initials.

"What?" Joel cried, turning back to Blair, who nodded with a grin so wide it looked like it could split his face. "Why…that's wonderful news! Oh, congratulations, Blair," he said, tears he couldn't control glistening in his eyes.

"The university gave me another chance, Joel…I didn't want to say anything, because I was scared it wouldn't come through…but I just got the call," Blair babbled, the words running together in his excitement.

"I'm so happy for you, son, and so proud…I could just burst," Joel replied, moving to give his young friend a solid hug.

"Thanks, Joel…everybody," Blair replied, getting his breath. "Sorry…I didn't mean to make a scene. It kinda caught me by surprise."

"You're entitled, Sandburg," Simon replied as he patted the younger man on the back. "You done good, kid…real good."

Realizing the others, excepting Jim, didn't know how this might affect his work with them, Banks tilted his head toward the rest of the gang as he said to Sandburg, "You want to reassure them that there won't be any personnel changes, or shall I?"

"Oh, right," Sandburg sighed happily, touched that it could matter so much to them that he stay. Turning to the others, he said, "I don't want any of you to get your hopes up. Just because I'm getting my doctorate, it doesn't mean that you can get rid of me that easy. Ph.D. or not, I'm a member of Major Crimes, and I intend to remain a member of Major Crimes. I hope nobody has any major objections to that."

His announcement was met with another round of cheers and applause…if he'd had any doubts before that they wanted him to stay, or that their acceptance of him had not been a simple act of mercy, he could harbour them no longer. They were delighted to hear that, Ph.D. or not, he was staying with them.

* * *

**_Chapter Three: Through A Glass Darkly…_ **

**_"You are an idiot!"_** the stocky, broad shouldered man roared at his sister's son. "An idiot who could ruin _everything!_ What are we supposed to do with this garbage, eh?" he demanded, shoving the briefcase back across the warehouse counter. "It's _useless_ to us."

"Hey, Guido, that 'garbage' is worth megabucks," his nephew protested, unrepentant.

"IF you have the packaging, merchandising and distribution networks," Guido seethed. "We do not. We deal in weapons. I have spent years building up both sides of this business, starting with a local operation. Specialty, hard to find weapons for the discerning buyer. Why, the right one can bring in fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, easy, often a good deal more. Good quality hunting rifles, Saturday night specials, whatever… but guns, always guns. Never in a hurry, never greedy, just slow, steady growth. Now we are national… with the latest deals, we are ready to go international. But this…this could bring all the wrong kind of attention."

Shrugging, the younger man said, "Fine, I'll move it myself."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Peter. Burn it, bury it, flush it down the toilet, I don't care, but get rid of it," the burly man ordered, shoving a pointed finger sharply into his idiot nephew's chest. "And forget about going back there. I can't risk them tying you to this. You'll move over into the other side. You _can_ drive can't you?" he asked scathingly.

"Yeah, yeah, I can drive," Pete said with ill grace.

"Fine, good, go…get out of my sight," his uncle replied, turning his back and stomping away.

* * *

"People! My office NOW!" Simon bellowed from his office door. Startled by the rage in their boss' voice and the thunderous expression on his face, everyone immediately complied. As they made haste to do his bidding, they threw puzzled looks at one another, wondering what had gotten Banks so riled. He'd seemed perfectly fine when he'd arrived not two hours ago.

They didn't have long to wait for the answer.

As soon as they'd taken seats around the conference table, Simon, who had remained standing with his arms crossed and his face scowling heavily, pried open his tight jaw to snap, "I've just had a call from Internal Affairs. It seems that a goodly portion of that drug haul we brought in last week has taken a little walk, if, as they so impolitely wonder, it was all ever signed in in the first place. Since the logbook had also gone for a stroll, there was no way of knowing for sure."

Expressions of modest dismay, polite shock, scowls of having just been insulted and general confusion filled the various faces around the table. So far, they couldn't see what it all had to do with them. Except for the IA's implied slander, but that was nothing new with those dolts. They were always seeing bad cops around every corner. The members of the Major Crimes Unit were clean and they all knew it. They'd made a righteous bust and turned in the haul. Not that this was good news. It wasn't. But…why was Simon so obviously and personally furious about it?

But, then…the missing logbook was more serious. Without the paper trail from arrest, confiscation and impoundment, there could be trouble proving the relevance of exhibits during the subsequent trials. As that thought sank in, and they realized how many of their cases depended on the evidence, hell, all of them, the concern in the room deepened.

As Simon watched the implications sink in, his lips twisted in acknowledgment that maybe they weren't all complete idiots.

Blair, frowning thoughtfully as he thought about what Simon had said, murmured, "You said the logbook 'had' gone missing…does that mean it's been found?"

"Good for you, Sandburg, I'm glad someone here was paying attention," Simon growled.

"If they found it, then what's the problem? It's a serious matter to have lost evidence from the lockup, sure, but if most of it's still there, and they've got the logbook, then how does that impact on us?" Rafe asked.

"First, when they found the log, the relevant page was missing. Second, they found it here, in the Major Crimes Unit…in Sandburg's desk, to be precise," Simon replied, disgust evident in his voice.

"Oh, now, wait a minute," Blair protested. "Captain…you don't think that I…"

"No, Sandburg, I don't," his superior snorted, then explained with exaggerated patience. "If you _were_ dirty, you're smart enough not to hold onto the evidence. It's a plant, that's obvious. What isn't obvious is why? Furthermore, what's obvious to me isn't necessarily obvious to IA. They very helpfully pointed out that you were the one who logged in the evidence in the first place."

"Hey, hold on," Jim intervened. "For the last four years, Sandburg has been logging in evidence…he's the only one who can stand the piles of paper and administration required. He's acted as a rep for all of us, any number of times."

"Don't you think I know that?" Simon blurted, out of patience. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "It seems there have been other incidents over the past several years, guns more than drugs, but nothing ever linked back to us, so we weren't ever involved. The culprit has never been found. But, now, they wonder if Sandburg hasn't been the guilty party all along."

Joel made the connection first and groaned, "Ah, you have _got_ to be kidding."

"I only wish I were," Simon replied with a heavy sigh as his eyes met Sandburg's gaze.

Looking between the two, the newest member of the team blanched as awareness hit. "The press conference…"

"I'm afraid so, Blair," Simon replied. "I'm sorry."

"Oh my God," Sandburg murmured as he sagged back in his chair. That particular nightmare was never going to end, never stop haunting him. Once a self-proclaimed liar and fraud, it seemed he would always be seen as one. It had already cost him one career…was it now going to cost him this one, too? Lifting his eyes to Jim, he could see his partner had just clicked in…the fury building in his eyes was a dead giveaway that he'd put it together.

Simon saw the fury as well and moved to contain it. "Don't you dare get righteous with me, Ellison," he growled.

Blair closed his eyes and lifted a hand to cover them as he curled forward, elbows on the table. The multiple levels of that message were brutal.

Jim looked like he'd just been pole-axed.

The rest looked at the three of them in turn, then looked away, not wanting to get into the middle of something they'd been conscientiously ignoring for years now. Far from stupid, or incompetent, detectives, they'd long ago figured out that there was something different about Ellison. He heard things, smelled things, hell, he could see things, they couldn't. And, they'd all figured out that it had something to do with that damned Sentinel mess a few months back…that Blair was in the middle of it, and Simon knew a whole lot more than they did. But, if they couldn't be trusted with whatever the big secret was, then fine…who cared. It was none of their business.

But, their feelings on the matter had been part of what they'd thought was so funny when it all came out and Ellison was in such a twist. And, it was why they'd teased him so mercilessly about it…they'd been nailing Ellison with their banter for not trusting them with whatever his secret was. So, he could see better and hear better than they could, big deal. He still put his pants on like they did, one leg at a time.

It had been a riot.

At least, it was until Blair took the fall.

And then it hadn't been funny anymore.

They'd rallied behind him, unanimously supporting Simon's decision to offer Sandburg a place in their unit if he'd agree to go to the Academy. And, while it wasn't a perfect solution, at least Hairboy wasn't left hanging in the wind. Besides, they liked the kid. He was 'good people', always willing to lend a hand, whether around the office with the endless paperwork or with more personal concerns. There was no denying that his contributions in the ideas department had had a _very_ favourable impact on their annual performance bonuses as the unit with the highest arrest record in the department, not _all_ of it attributable to the 'Cop of the Year' either…but, he never lorded it over them, never made them feel like he was so much smarter than they were, though they all knew without doubt that he was. They didn't call him 'Einstein' for nothing. No, if anything, he always made them feel like he had something to learn from them…made them feel good, confident and proud. He was fun to be around, too, always lightening the often tense atmosphere with his wacky sense of humour and there was no denying that Ellison was a good deal more approachable since Blair had chipped his edges off…or maybe just plain wore them away. They liked him, respected him, and wanted to keep him around.

It was why they'd stood up for Blair when others in the PD made disparaging comments about him when he'd first come back. He'd paid his dues for whatever little game he and Ellison were playing, and they'd been high enough. They weren't about to see him pay more, not if they had anything to say about it.

But, now the specter of his own admitted fraudulence was back to haunt the kid again.

Simon looked around at his team. "I called you all in here because we all _know_ this is bullshit, pure and simple. IA has had years to figure out who is pilfering our lockup of evidence and they've come up with squat. But, whoever it is has finally made a mistake. They've come after _us_ , and _we're_ going to take them down."

Blair raised his head and lifted a hand to protest. "Simon…if you all get involved, if you try to protect me, they'll just think you're all part of it. The risk to everyone's reputation if you back me…it's not worth it."

"That's where you're wrong, Hairboy," H. cut in with unusual calm…a deadly calm. "Simon's right. When they come after one of us, they come after all of us. You will _not_ go through _this_ mess alone."

"You got that right," Rafe chimed in.

"No way," Joel confirmed their words.

"Oh, Sandy, let us help you…we _all_ know you're innocent," Megan sighed wearily, conscious that her own knowledge about all of it was deeper than that of her three colleagues, but she also knew very well the other three weren't exactly clueless. They'd figured a lot of it out, and the media clips months ago had filled in a lot of details. She'd never understood why it had to be such a deep dark secret in the first place and now there seemed very little value in pretending anymore.

Blair looked around at all of them, up at Simon and finally at Jim. Ellison returned his gaze steadily as he said quietly, "Chief, when they're right, they _are_ right."

For a moment more their gaze remained locked, sharing their understanding that everyone around this table _knew_ , and they'd been fools not to recognize that long before now. Jim's gaze was full of shame because he could imagine what his colleagues must think of him for having allowed the sacrifices Blair had made on his behalf. He'd thought it all himself, still did. Blair's eyes clouded with profound regret for the hurt he read in his partner's face…once again, Jim was trapped in a disaster not of his making, but he was paying the penalty. Sandburg shook his head tightly, just once, but the Sentinel understood that his Guide was telling him not to take it all on himself, that this was not his fault. Jim nodded slightly, but his gaze slipped away.

Blowing out a deep breath, Sandburg finally nodded. Looking again at each of them in turn, he simply said, "Thank you." As his gaze shifted to Simon's, he asked, "Where do you want us to start?"

* * *

Pit bulls have a better, more congenial nature than do the investigators from Internal Affairs. It wasn't long before they were digging their teeth into everyone's throats, trying as Blair had predicted they would, to bring them all down once it was clear that the members of Major Crimes were standing together on this one.

"Captain Banks," Lieutenant Hurley said with that disgustingly oily manner he had, "we can understand that you want to protect one of your own men. That's natural, though, perhaps, misguided. After all, none of us wants a dirty cop on our team. But…something about all this puzzles us."

"Oh, and what is that?" Simon drawled, his own narrowed eyes hard and cold as he leaned back in his chair, projecting an indefinable insolence and lack of respect for the two investigators facing him across his desk. _Here it comes_ , he thought.

"Well, a lot of good cops have wondered why they were overlooked for promotion when you decided to boost a raw recruit, who was a self-proclaimed liar and fraud, into your unit. You have to admit, Captain Banks, that the situation looks decidedly odd," the second investigator, Lieutenant Fraser, chimed in, her tone oh so reasonable.

 _And here we go_ , Simon thought as he leaned forward, his elbows planted firmly on his desk, now projecting an aggressive antagonism. "I don't much care what anyone else thinks about how I choose my team," he replied. "But, since you asked, let me point out a few things for you. Detective Sandburg had been a member of this team, however 'unofficially' for more than three years. During that time, he has made contributions of incalculable worth, to which the arrest record of this unit will attest. Further, he distinguished himself as a man of unique and rare excellence during his time at the Academy. The incident to which you refer had nothing to do with his work here. I fear you may, in your ignorance, have misunderstood the academic situation to which Detective Sandburg was referring in his press conference. He was addressing the matter of a document that he had never submitted, had tried to suppress, and finally discounted as fiction to terminate a deplorable media feeding frenzy that was interfering with the functioning of the police in the course of our duties. Blair Sandburg's actions were directed toward the good of this department and the safety of the community, at some real cost to himself, and I believe his behaviour should be lauded, not defamed."

"Well, that's an interesting interpretation, Captain, but the fact remains the issue was serious enough for the university to expel him as someone unworthy of their doctoral program," Hurley observed dryly.

"Again, I fear you are misinformed, Lieutenant," Simon's voice was icy as he continued, "Detective Sandburg is to be awarded his Ph.D. before the end of this month for what is, I understand, a cogent and highly complimentary dissertation on 'The Thin Blue Line'. I'm not sure that the department would want the publicity of crucifying a man who is publishing a paper that does nothing but paint us as heroes in the modern world."

Simon smiled thinly as he watched the confusion spread across their faces. Moving in for the kill, he took charge of the interview, "Now, let me get a few things straight here. You have been unsuccessfully investigating a crime committed within the walls of this institution for more than three years. Having failed to identify the culprit, you are now investigating a man who has only performed with distinction, and who in the course of his academic career has brought highly favourable attention to our police community. All you have is a document that was clearly planted in his desk, circumstantial at best and credible only if Detective Sandburg is an idiot. Which he is not. To the contrary, he's probably the most brilliant member on our force. Frankly, you look like fools. Since you seem incapable of performing your own jobs, I have decided to apply the remarkable skills of my unit to assisting you in determining who has really been ripping us off. I'm sure you wouldn't want to refuse the assistance of the unit with the highest number of arrests in this city over the past five years. Am I clear?"

It was a declaration of war, pure and simple. The investigators from Internal Affairs were well used to obstruction and resentment as they pursued their duties, but never had either of them ever experienced a situation in which their own credibility was so clearly a part of the issue at hand.

To defuse the situation, to take it back to a level of détente, Lieutenant Hurley opened his arms in a peaceful gesture as he replied, "Captain, I'm sure you're not suggesting action that would reflect badly on the department. No one wants to give the impression that we are at each other's throats internally. It would lower public confidence in the force."

"I'm suggesting action that will finally identify the perpetrator of these crimes, without having to scapegoat an innocent man who is a model of the values of this force," Simon pushed right back. "So, if you would be so good as to share your files from your investigations over the past three or more years, we can pool our efforts for the collective good. Any problem with that?"

Exchanging looks that gave nothing away, the two investigators stood. "Thank you for your time, Captain," Lieutenant Angela Forbes said formally, "we'll get back to you."

"I'm sure you will," Simon replied, turning away to pick up a file before they'd even left the office.

* * *

"You were working with Detective Ellison on a case some months ago, in which the suspect allegedly stole canisters of a highly toxic nerve gas and fled to Mexico," Forbes said to Megan Conner. "That suspect is also alleged to have attempted to drown Blair Sandburg, is that not correct?"

"Not quite," Megan replied coolly. "Alex Barnes did drown Detective Sandburg. He was unresponsive and the paramedics had given up trying to revive him."

Smiling silkily, Hurley shook his head. "That's a little dramatic, don't you think? If Sandburg was dead, then how is it that he's still up and walking around? After all, you're not a doctor, he wasn't pronounced dead."

"Ever heard of miracles?" Megan replied scathingly, unamused. "I have some experience with knowing when someone is dead…and believe me, _Detective_ Blair Sandburg _was_ dead. Perhaps working in IA, you haven't the experience to recognize a dead body when you see one. One clue is that they haven't drawn breath for more than half an hour. Another is that there is no heartbeat. The cold, blue skin is also a good indicator. We could arrange a trip to the morgue for you to see one, if that would help."

The IA investigators nearly choked on that response. "Was that a threat, Detective Conner?"

"Threat? By no means. You people do have trouble identifying offers of assistance, don't you?" Megan cut back.

"Be that as it may," Forbes tried to take back control of the interview, "Sandburg was known to have developed an association with this Alex Barnes after having met her here, in the station, while you were questioning her on another matter. Do all you detectives make it a point to develop personal relationships with individuals you meet in the course of duty?"

Megan's eyes were flat as she returned Forbes' gaze. "Detective Sandburg was a civilian at the time, pursuing research on the work of law enforcement officers," she explained with painful clarity. "It was not inappropriate for him to seek the perspectives of those who came into contact with us in the course of our duties. Blair Sandburg was a victim of Alex Barnes, not a confederate."

"Sounds like a falling out amongst thieves to me," Hurley commented sarcastically.

"And that sounds like slander to me," Megan replied coldly. "You'd best be careful of the accusations you make without any basis but your own ignorance."

* * *

"Detective Ellison, you have been associated with Blair Sandburg for what, something like four years now?" Forbes began with the basics, made wary by the earlier interviews.

"That's correct," Jim replied, watching them like a beast of prey sizing up his next meal.

"And Sandburg has lived with you for most of that time, is that not also correct?" Forbes continued.

"Blair Sandburg and I share a two bedroom condo, if that's what you mean," Ellison replied.

"Does he pay rent?" Forbes inquired.

"I'm not sure what that has to do with your investigation into evidence stolen from lockup, but, yes, he pays rent," Jim replied, finally and for the first time thankful for Blair's insistence on paying his way, no matter how tight his resources had been for most of that time.

"During this period, you've had occasion to evict Sandburg, is that not correct?" Forbes continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ellison demanded angrily, still feeling painfully guilty for his bizarre and unjust behaviour.

"Just answer the question, Detective," Forbes replied.

"Yes, briefly," Ellison snapped.

"Sounds like a lovers' spat to me," Hurley mumbled, being deliberately provocative. The only response was a steely glare that made him twitch.

"This eviction was during the course of your investigation into the activities of one Alex Barnes, was it not?" Forbes came back, evidently choosing to ignore her partner and the last byplay.

"Yes," Jim replied.

"Because Sandburg had a relationship with Barnes that left you, shall we say, uncomfortable with a continued association with him?" Forbes continued.

Jim felt his throat go dry and for the first time, his own composure cracked as he looked away. "Sandburg had nothing to do with the crimes for which we were investigating Alex Barnes," he replied.

"You didn't answer the question," Forbes persisted.

"Yes," Ellison sighed.

"What was that?" Forbes pressed.

"Yes…for a brief time, Sandburg and I had a falling out that was in part related to Alex Barnes. Initially, Sandburg was unaware that she was being investigated and had no reason to suspect that she was guilty of any crime," Ellison clarified, unable to lie and hating himself for it.

"I see…" Forbes murmured with a meaningful gaze at her partner who smirked. Jim bristled at the implications of their non-verbal exchange, but remained silent. Forbes turned back to him as she asked, "And is it not true that Sandburg wrote a document that embarrassed you on national television, interfering with your capacity to do your duties?" she asked.

Ellison rolled his eyes, sighed, and nodded, "Yes…but he didn't release that document…"

"And he subsequently admitted that the document was a complete fraud in a nationally broadcast newscast, is that not true?" Forbes cut in, continuing her relentless inquisition.

"That's correct, but Sandburg…" Jim replied, trying to mitigate the damage.

"Thank you, you've answered the question, Detective," she cut in again, leaving him frustrated and infuriated. "Now, we must admit to some confusion as to why you would refuse any partner but Blair Sandburg, given that you had occasion to evict him from your home because of his association with a felon, and that he had abused your trust and relationship as a colleague, even as a friend, to write a spurious document that was harmful to you. Could you explain why you have anything more to do with this man, let alone choose only to work with him as your partner?" Forbes asked.

"Blair Sandburg is the most honourable, decent, honest man I know. He's brilliant, compassionate and the best police officer I have ever had the privilege to work with. I'd be a fool not to want a man like him for a partner," Ellison replied, emotion in his voice, his face slightly flushed.

"All that, and your ' _best friend'_ , too," Forbes observed dryly. "When you put it like that, Detective Ellison, of course we can understand why you'd refuse to work with anyone but him."

"Not to mention, _'room-mate'_ ,' Hurley added, in a soft murmur.

"Now, you just hold it right there…" Jim snarled.

"That will be all, Detective, thank you," Forbes concluded the interview. "We have no further questions for you."

* * *

The interviews with Joel, Henri and Rafe were short if not sweet. The IA investigators verified the details of the night raid to trap the drug smugglers, as well as the fact that the confiscated drugs had been in Blair Sandburg's sole possession for delivery to the evidence storage lockup. Whenever any of the three attempted to make statements in support of Sandburg's character or obvious innocence, they were cut off, the interviews terminated.

Blair was the last detective on the Major Crimes team to be called into their interview room.

"Detective Sandburg, we understand you are to be congratulated…you are soon to be awarded your Ph.D.," Hurley began.

"Yes, thank you," Blair replied as he gazed at them, his expression open and earnest.

"As you are aware," Forbes began, "we are investigating the discovery of the evidence logbook in your desk."

"Yes, so I understand," Blair replied. "I have no idea how it got there."

"Uh huh," Hurley grunted, rolling his eyes. "Well, as you can appreciate, we need more than your word on that. The disappearance of evidence from the lockup has been occurring for some time, a period of time that parallels your association with this police department. During that period of time, you have been involved with other questionable activities."

Hurley looked up from his file to see if Sandburg had anything to say about that, but the younger man remained silent. "No response, Detective?"

"Was there a question?" Blair replied, determined to remain calm, to not let them provoke him.

"No, quite right, there wasn't, but I might have hoped you'd be more cooperative, offering information rather than requiring us to drag it out of you," Hurley snapped.

Blair swallowed, then asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Detective Ellison has confirmed that he threw you out of his apartment because of your association with the felon, Alex Barnes," Forbes advised him. "Is that true?"

"It was a misunderstanding, but yes, essentially that is true," Blair replied.

"Must have been some 'misunderstanding'," Hurley muttered before posing his next question. "What was your involvement with Alex Barnes, Detective?"

"I was meeting with her in the course of my research," Blair replied. "I had no idea of her illegal activities at the time."

"Your research? For the dissertation you wrote?" Forbes asked, referring to 'The Thin Blue Line'.

"That's correct," Blair replied, referring to 'The Sentinel'.

"Why did Alex Barnes attack you, Sandburg?" Forbes demanded.

"Alex thought I had information that might be instrumental in helping the police capture her," Blair replied.

"Must have been some pretty damaging information…where can we access your formal statement outlining just exactly what this information was?" Forbes asked.

"No formal statement was made," Blair replied. "Alex left the country shortly after…attacking me and was later apprehended in Mexico. The file was closed."

The two investigators stared at him for a long moment, their conclusion that he'd suppressed information clear in their eyes. But, they moved along to the other questions on their agenda.

"Not long ago, you advised the nation that you are a fraud and that you lied in the document that described your partner, James Ellison, of having superman type powers," Hurley jumped in. "Why should we believe anything you tell us now?"

Holding their gaze with his own, his face pale and his eyes wide, Blair replied as calmly as he could, "I never made any claims that Jim Ellison is a 'superman'. He's as human as any of us. As to the press conference I had regarding a document I had written, my statements referred to the assumptions that it had been written as a piece of academic research and scholarship. To that extent, the information presented in the document could not be represented as truth. Because of the chaos the improper release of the document had in Jim's life, and its interference with his work here for the department, I felt it was important to quickly disabuse anyone of the notion that the contents of the document were scientifically valid."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure," Hurley sneered. Blair looked away and took a deep breath.

"Now, Sandburg, why would someone plant the logbook in your desk?" Forbes inquired.

"I don't know," Blair replied.

"To the extent that you effectively betrayed your _partner_ by having written that ridiculous piece of nonsense about him, embarrassed him in public and potentially compromised one of his earlier investigations concerning Alex Barnes, how do you account for the fact that he is still prepared to work with you?" Forbes demanded.

"You'd have to ask Jim that. Anything else is speculation," Blair replied.

"Oh, we did," Hurley informed him. "He says it's because you're a honourable man and a great cop."

"But, then, what else would someone say about his _'best friend'_?" Forbes asked rhetorically.

"And ' _room-mate'_ ," Hurley concluded.


	2. Chapter 2

The conclusion of Blair's interview coincided with the end of their working day, so the partners cleared their desks and headed home for the night. Neither of them spoke until they were in the truck and headed out of the garage.

"They give you a rough time, Chief?" Ellison asked, flicking a look of concern at his uncharacteristically quiet partner.

"Oh, man, this is so not good," Sandburg groaned as he unconsciously thumped his fist on the bottom of the open window frame of the truck. Turning to face Jim, he continued, "They've convinced themselves I'm some kind of master-criminal in league with Alex Barnes, and that you overlook my lack of ethics because we're…"

"I know what they think, Chief," Jim cut in, his jaw tight. "Their insinuations aren't subtle."

Blair blew out a long breath and slumped back against his seat, his eyes pressed closed as he massaged his temples. "God, I have _such_ a headache!"

"Ah, Sandburg, are you trying to tell me something here? Like you'd just like to have a _quiet_ night?" Jim quipped, a grin playing around his lips as he gently teased his best friend.

Blair frowned at the words and tone. Opening one eye to peer suspiciously at his partner and catching the woe-be-gone, heartbroken look that Jim was casting at him, he broke up into snickers that turned into guffaws. Panting, trying to catch his breath, shaking his head at the broad grin on Ellison's face, Blair sputtered, "This isn't funny, Jim!"

"I don't know…you seem to find the idea pretty amusing," Ellison replied with a chuckle. Sobering then, he flashed a look at Blair then reached out to grip his friend's shoulder as he drove one-handedly while he said, "I don't care what they think, Chief…it doesn't matter. What matters is clearing up this mess." Jim sighed then shook his head. "They _twist_ things to their own ends, things you say, things that happened…I don't think I helped you much today during my interview with them…."

"They quoted some of what you said to me," Blair replied, waving off Jim's concerns. "Don't worry about it, Jim…they only hear what they want to hear. That's what makes them so dangerous. They've already made their minds up before they start their investigation and there's no point bothering them with the facts."

"We'll get you out of this, Blair…we'll find the real thief," Ellison promised him.

"Yeah, I know…it's just a matter of time. The Major Crimes Unit always get their man," Sandburg replied with a drawl, smiling in private amusement at his obscure reference to the motto of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

"You got it, Chief," Jim replied with determined confidence. As he noticed where they were, he pulled over into a convenient parking slot in front of his bank. Popping open the door, he said, "I need some cash, Chief. I'll just be a minute…do you want to come in or wait?"

"I'll wait," Blair replied. "Banks depress me…all that money and none of it mine," he quipped.

Jim grinned at him as he shut the door and headed into the neighbourhood branch.

Blair leaned back, again massaging his temples and taking deep, grounding breaths…but when the sharp, explosive pops of weapons' fire split the air, he jerked upright, looking quickly around the area to determine where the shots had come from. The behaviour of the pedestrians, as they scrambled away from the bank's window, caused his heart to clench.

"Oh my God," he breathed as he grabbed up the microphone for the police radio in the truck. "Bank holdup in progress on McGillvery south of Crow's Foot. Shots fired. Officers on the scene require backup immediately."

Even as Dispatch confirmed his call, and sent out the message to all units in the vicinity, Blair was out of the truck, pulling his weapon into his hand as he raced to the bank's window and took a cautious look inside. What he saw made his blood run cold…three men down, including Jim, two more standing and waving their weapons around wildly at the innocent people trapped in the bank.

Blair knew he should probably wait for backup…but that was Jim lying in there, bleeding on the marble floor…and there were too many potential hostages, too many people in danger if these guys weren't taken down quickly. Making his decision, doubled over to present a smaller target at the window, he raced to the door to shout through it, **_"Police! Drop your weapons!"_** but the only response was a barrage of bullets that shattered the glass of the door beside him as he twisted away. Taking a deep breath, Blair crashed through the remains of the door, rolling as he landed and coming up to whip off a shot at one of the gunmen, who was swinging his weapon toward him. His bullet caught the guy in the shoulder, shattering it and causing the villain to drop with a scream of agony to the floor.

Blair rolled again, just in time to evade bullets shot at him by the only criminal still standing. The bullets hit the marble floor, spitting up dust and chinks of stone. By the time Blair was back in position, braced on one knee, his other bent with his foot firmly braced on the floor and his gun focused on the last bad guy, the felon had grabbed a young teller as a shield, holding her tightly against him, his gun at her head. She was trembling with terror, her eyes wide and panicked as she begged him to let her go.

 ** _"Shut up!"_** he snarled, digging the snout of his gun into her temple for emphasis and her wretched, shrill pleas abruptly stopped, leaving only the sounds of her hysterical sobs. "Drop your gun, pig, or I'll blow her head off," he threatened.

Blair kept his gun trained on the assailant while his eyes quickly flicked around the bank, evaluating the situation. Jim was laying face down a few feet away, blood spreading on the floor from a wound in his head that Blair couldn't see. The other two guys who had been shot were wearing masks, indicating Jim had done some damage before he'd been taken down, however much he'd been taken by surprise. There were what looked like half a dozen other clients in the bank, two more tellers and some other staff. All of the civilians looked terrified, standing or crouching in a frozen tableau of fear. He didn't see any other wounded and hoped that, so far at least, none of the civilians had been harmed.

"No…I think I should keep my gun," Blair replied calmly. "You don't want to kill her, man…right now, you haven't even stolen anything, just committed assault. Why go up for murder when you can get away with a slap on the wrist? Besides, if you kill her, you won't have a shield anymore to save you from me. So, I'd suggest you drop _your_ gun, _now_."

It was a standoff. The guy holding the girl was desperate…made more so by the sounds of sirens converging outside.

"You're surrounded, man, you'll never get away. Give it up, before you make things worse than they already are," Blair cajoled softly, easing himself slowly up until he was standing. He was watching the gunman's gun arm and hand, watching the trembling caused by desperate fear and adrenaline, watching the finger on the trigger of the weapon shoved against the poor girl's head.

"I swear, I'll kill her," the man insisted, breathing heavily.

Looking into the felon's eyes, seeing the flat, cold, brutality there, Blair knew he was telling the truth. "If I lower my gun, will you let her go?" he asked, knowing the guy wouldn't be able to resist turning the gun on him.

"Oh, yeah, pig, I promise," the criminal smiled, unable to believe the cop could be so stupid, but glad of it. "She'll be fine if you drop your gun," he urged, starting to think he might get out of this mess alive. "I don't want to kill her if I don't have to."

"Okay, man, just stay cool," Blair soothed, evaluating his options. The only target open to him was the man's head, and if he shot while that gun was trained on the girl, the body's reflex at sudden death could well result in the discharge of the weapon, killing her instantly. He _had_ to get the gun away from her head. Taking a deep breath, swallowing hard, steadying himself, he kept his eyes trained on his target, bitterly conscious that all his time in practice to avoid killing someone had only prepared him to take on the single small target left to him…the felon's face. This was it…the questions about 'when' and ' how soon' were about to be answered. He couldn't let that girl or anyone else be killed by this man. He'd made a vow to 'serve and protect'. He didn't have any more choices.

His face suddenly white, his eyes wide, Blair began to lower his gun. As soon as it was trained on the floor, the gunman sneered and moved quickly to turn his own weapon on Blair, his finger tightening on the trigger. _Stupid pig_ , he thought.

Blair moved with electric speed, his arms sweeping up, the gun steadied by his two-handed grip, as he fired.

The girl screamed as the gun in her captor's hand exploded, so close behind the blast of Sandburg's weapon that the sounds merged together in one defeating blast. Blair was thrown back by the force of the bullet that hit him. The criminal dropped, dead before he hit the floor.

Ignoring his shoulder wound, Blair pushed himself up quickly and moved to put cuffs around the wrists of the villain he'd wounded, checked the others and found Jim had fired with deadly accuracy. Blair couldn't bring himself to look at the man he had just killed, just concentrated on the pain in his own shoulder and the effort of keeping his breathing even to distract him from the roiling in his gut…to keep himself from vomiting or shrieking wildly with helpless, hopeless anguish. As he worked, he called out, "Anyone else hurt?"

"No," a tall man said from his position by the wall.

Nodding gratefully, Blair then demanded, "Who's the manager of this branch?"

"I am," a middle-aged, smartly dressed, woman said as she stepped forward, her face haggard.

"Call 911, tell them the robbery in progress has been stopped, the bad guys subdued and that the police officers outside can come in. Tell them we need a couple of ambulances immediately…officer down. Got it?" Blair rapped out.

"Got it," she replied, moving quickly to a phone. Blair didn't want to risk anyone being mistaken for one of the robbers if they stuck their heads out that door so soon after shots had been fired.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself and fight off the darkness hovering on the edge of his vision, having finally fulfilled _all_ of his duties, he turned to do the only thing he'd wanted to do since he'd first looked in the window and had seen Jim on the floor. Stumbling a little, he fell to his knees beside Jim, terrified of what he might find. Quickly, he checked his partner before moving him. Reaching for a pulse, Blair thought he might faint with the relief of that steady, strong beat. "Thank you," he whispered fervently to whatever powers that be. Leaning forward, he carefully felt Jim's head to find out how bad the wound was and was again infinitely relieved to find that his partner seemed to have been only grazed by the bullet. Not seeing any evidence of other wounds, he gingerly turned his friend over, made awkward by the wound to his own shoulder.

Positioning Jim's head and shoulders over his thighs, supporting his friend against his chest and good shoulder, he called out softly, "Hey, Jim…time to wake up, buddy…you're scaring me, man. C'mon, Jim, wake up."

Sandburg was afraid his friend might have zoned on the pain or smell of blood, and was vastly relieved when Ellison's eyelids fluttered and opened to stare up at him in confusion.

"Easy, Jim, you're all right. Everything's fine…we got the bad guys and nobody else got hurt," Blair assured him.

Frowning, muttering a low groan as one hand gingerly came up to touch his head, Ellison winced with pain, but then his gaze caught the blood pulsing from the wound in Sandburg's shoulder, "You're…hurt…" he rumbled, fear flaring in his eyes.

"Not bad, don't worry," Blair replied quietly, ignoring the fire of pain that radiated from his shoulder wound. "Dial it down, man…the pain…your sense of smell. Stinks of blood in here, I know. Just dial it down and you'll be fine."

Ellison nodded and winced again, tried to get up but the sudden dizziness defeated him. "What happened?" he asked. "There were two others…."

"I took care of them," Blair replied, his voice suddenly flat as his gaze skittered away from his friend's eyes.

Just then, the door of the bank flew open as police wearing bulletproof vests stormed in, rifles in their hands. Turning, Blair called out, "It's okay, guys…it's over. This is Detective Ellison and I'm Detective Sandburg, Major Crimes Unit. We just happened to be in the neighbourhood…"

The room tilted and lurched suddenly, or so it seemed to Sandburg who suddenly felt himself spiral into darkness. "Take care of my partn…" was all he got out before he slipped sideways onto the floor. The last thing he heard was Ellison crying out his name.

*********************

By the time Simon arrived at the hospital with Joel at his heels, Jim's head wound had been stitched up and was in the process of being bandaged. At the desk, the captain learned that Sandburg was already in surgery.

Not giving a damn about hospital protocol, knowing Ellison might need him with Sandburg out of action, Simon strode down the hall and burst into the examining room. He was immensely relieved to hear Ellison giving the doctor a hard time…it meant Jim was just fine.

"Look, you want me to stay overnight for 'observation', fine. You want me to stay awake to be sure that this concussion isn't dangerous, also fine. But…I'm telling you that you might as well put me in the same room as Sandburg, because that's where I'm going to be…sitting right beside my partner," Ellison snarled.

"Detective, you need to rest…and sitting up all night isn't my idea of 'rest'," the doctor was replying with some impatience. It appeared to Simon that this discussion might have been underway for some time.

Jim looked over as he entered and called out, "Simon, thank God. They won't tell me how Sandburg is, or what's happening to him…" he said, fear naked in his eyes.

"He's in surgery," Simon advised him, then turned to the physician. "I'm Captain Simon Banks. How is he, Doctor?"

"Ornery," the physician replied. "But, I can't do much to treat him for that. As for his head, I think he'll be fine."

"He'll rest a lot easier if you let him be with his partner tonight," Simon offered, trying to make peace the easiest way possible.

Sighing, the doctor nodded. It wasn't that hard to arrange and easier than fighting with a man who didn't need his blood pressure rising to aggravate his concussion. "Fine…"

Jim blew out a sigh of relief, and accepted Simon's assistance to sit up. "Surgery…how bad was his wound?"

"The officers on the scene reported that it didn't seem that serious, Jim. Relax, Sandburg will be fine," Simon reassured him. "But," he continued, seeing the need for a more expert opinion in Ellison's eyes, "to be sure, perhaps the doctor here could give us a few more details…"

"Detective Sandburg lost a fair amount of blood because the bullet clipped a small artery, but it was a flesh wound, no shattered bones. They've taken him to surgery to remove the bullet and he should be up in his room within a couple of hours," the physician replied. "Captain Banks is correct. Detective Sandburg should be just fine in a couple of weeks."

Banks could feel Ellison's muscles finally relax under his hand. "Ready to tell me what happened?" he asked his detective.

"I don't know all of it, Simon," Ellison replied with a sigh, wincing a little against the pounding that thudded through his head. "I'd jogged into the bank, not really paying attention, and found myself in the middle of a hold up. I guess I startled one of the robbers, because he whipped around and shot at me. I remember pulling my gun, and shooting…but that's about all. When I woke up, Blair told me it was over and none of the civilians had been hurt."

"Well, from what I can piece together, you managed to take down two of the bank robbers, and Blair took down the last two, saving a hostage's life in the process," Simon supplied.

"What do you mean by 'took down'?" Jim asked as he rubbed his forehead, dreading the answer.

"He had to kill one of them, Jim," Simon replied quietly. Ellison looked up at Simon, then behind him to Joel, seeing the grief and regret in both of their gazes, knowing the same must be reflected in his own eyes.

With a muffled sound, Jim bowed his head, his eyes pressed closed. _Oh God, Sandburg, I'm so sorry_ , he thought, knowing what that action must have cost his partner. _I'm so very sorry…_

********************

Ellison consented to remain on his bed until the gurney bearing Sandburg's still form was finally wheeled into the room and his best friend was carefully transferred to the bed. And then, Jim was up and beside his partner, reaching for his hand, brushing the curls away from his face. Simon and Joel had waited with him, and were now standing at the foot of Sandburg's bed, equally anxious and concerned.

Blair blinked at the gentle touch on his forehead, the feeling of a larger hand grasping his own tightly. Blinking, bleary with the aftereffects of the surgery and pain medication, he looked up and tried to focus. "Jim?" he whispered past a dry, very sore throat.

"I'm here, Chief…you're okay," Ellison replied quietly with a soft, reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be okay."

"What happened?" Sandburg asked, confused. Looking around, he spotted Simon and Joel, squinting to see them better, to try to understand the expressions on their faces. They looked so sad. "What's wrong?"

"Don't worry about it, now, Sandburg," Jim soothed. "Lots of time for the details in the morning. Right now, you just need to rest, okay?"

Blair frowned, not liking the feeling of confusion. Unwilling to relax until he could remember what had happened, why he was in the hospital and Jim had that bandage on his head, he demanded, "You okay?"

"I'm fine, honest," Jim reassured him. "There's nothing to worry about."

His eyes flickering around the room, Blair took a breath and winced at the pain in his shoulder…and then he remembered being shot…and then he remembered… "Oh God," he gasped. Weak from the injury, muddled by the drugs, he couldn't help the trembling that took hold of his body or the tears that suddenly filled his eyes. "I…Jim, I killed…"

"Easy, Blair," Jim replied, holding his friend's hand even tighter while he gently stroked his friend's head. "Easy. Listen to me…you had no choice. You saved a woman's life, maybe lots of lives…"

His face blanched as white as the sheets, wide blue eyes glistening with moisture, Blair fought the nausea, and felt guilt swamp him. Unable to face anyone, turning his head away, his jaw tight against the sob he was holding in his throat, he closed his eyes to stop the tears, but they slipped silently past his lashes to trace sad paths down his cheeks. Blessedly, darkness descended to mute the horror he felt to the depths of his soul.

********************

"Oh great, just great," Hurley muttered as he threw the newspaper aside having just read the headlining story. "Now he's a hero, shot in the line of duty saving a civilian's life."

Forbes sighed as she rubbed the back of neck. "Yeah, looks like he is," she agreed wearily. They were back to square one without any credible suspect, and they might as well face it. "Look, Frank, I really don't buy that there is some massive criminal conspiracy going on up in Major Crimes…it doesn't add up with the facts about their performance. I think everything they've told us about Sandburg is true. He's clean. All we've got is circumstantial shit that doesn't add up to a hill of beans. Maybe we should take Banks up on his offer, show him what we have. It's not much, but if we can link anything to someone with a grudge against Sandburg, maybe we'll find our perp."

Hurley nodded in agreement, much as he hated to. Internal Affairs wasn't known for building alliances with other units. "If we don't, we really will look like fools…and I'm tired of whoever it is dancing around, snubbing his nose at all of us. Let's get this guy."

********************

After Simon and Joel had taken their leave the night before, Ellison steadfastly ignored all the many efforts by the nurses to get him to return to his own bed. Throughout the long hours of darkness, he sat holding his partner's hand, keeping a vigil beside him. It was all he could do just then to keep Sandburg safe. All he could do was be there when the kid woke up again, to offer comfort as best he could.

Ellison did a lot of thinking during the night and the thoughts weren't happy ones. Blair could have been as easily killed as wounded during that shoot-out. The bullet had gone into his left shoulder. Only a few inches lower, it would have been his heart. The Sentinel closed his eyes and hung his head, overwhelmed by his failure to protect his Guide.

But, this time, the wound hadn't only been to Blair's body. Blinking against the moisture in his eyes, Jim knew it went a whole lot deeper than that. For as long as he'd known him, Sandburg had had an aversion to guns and violence, hanging in only because of his profound commitment to stay by Ellison, to support him in every way needed. Sick at heart, Jim counted off the costs, the prices Blair had paid to stand by him. He'd been taken hostage by a maniac who had intended to kill him, he'd been shot more than once, he'd been beaten, sometimes very badly, he'd been murdered, drowned in that damned fountain, he'd given up his career and his good reputation publicly…and now, this gentle, compassionate man had forced himself to learn how to use a gun and had killed a man. A monster, sure. There'd been no choice. But Ellison knew Blair wouldn't ever feel anything but guilt and grief for what he'd been forced to do.

Forced by circumstance…and forced by his commitment to one James Joseph Ellison.

And what had he gotten in return? Someone who too often treated him like shit. Who failed to get down on his knees everyday and thank God for the miracle of having Blair Sandburg in his life.

As he stared into Blair's too pale face and listened to the steady beat of his best friend's heart, Ellison shook his head as he murmured, "Too much, Chief…I cost you too much." Swallowing, his head again bowed with the pain of his decision, he determined that he had to save Blair from coming to any more harm on his account. Sandburg would be awarded his doctorate in a few weeks time. Maybe he could find work in the city and wouldn't have to move away…but Ellison was brutally realistic with himself. There weren't many jobs for anthropologists in Cascade, especially since Rainier wouldn't consider giving him a position. So, it was likely that Blair would have to go away. The anguish of that thought, the fear it engendered, constricted the Sentinel's, the friend's, heart. But, relentlessly, he mastered it and pushed it away.

It wouldn't be easy, Ellison thought as he again gazed at Blair's face and brushed the hair back. Crazy, wild curls. Sandburg wouldn't go without a fight. He'd already shown how much he was willing to face, to do, out of loyalty and love. No, it wouldn't be easy. Ellison knew he'd have to force Blair to leave. It would be hard, and it would hurt like hell…hurt both of them. But, at least the kid would be alive. He'd have to be one truly miserable bastard to make Blair finally give up on him. "No problem, eh, Chief?" he whispered aloud at that thought. "It's one of the things I do best, isn't it? Nobody knows that better than you."

So, once again, Jim Ellison decided to take control of the situation and do what had to be done, for Sandburg's own good. He consoled himself with the lie that it was only a matter of time anyway. Blair wasn't cut out to be a cop…his spirit was too innocent, too easily bruised. With his Ph.D., at some point Blair would realize that he just couldn't do it anymore, and that he did have choices. And, then he would leave. So…best to do it now, get it over with. It would be better for both of them in the long run.

Hard as it was, Jim really tried to believe the lies he was telling himself.

********************

By the time Sandburg recovered consciousness the next day, Ellison had decided there was no time like the present to begin his campaign to drive Blair away. For the last few hours, he'd been grappling with his driving but competing needs to both lend Blair the support he needed to live with the shooting, and to make Sandburg despise him so much the kid would leave of his own volition. Finally, he decided he would give the necessary messages, and hope Blair heard them, but give them with a brutal clarity.

But, God, when those eyes opened and looked at him with such pain and trust, it damned near brought Ellison to his knees. "Sleep well?" he asked quietly.

Blair's eyes darted around the room, and the memories crashed back in. Striving to control his emotions, he gripped Jim's hand hard as he stared at the ceiling and whispered hoarsely, "I killed someone, and, Jim, I don't even know his name."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter what his name was…the guy was scum. You did right, Chief. From what I hear, there was nothing else you could have done," Jim replied, his voice steady, matter-of-fact.

Sandburg's gaze shifted to his as he murmured, "I know, Jim…but I feel so…"

"Don't," Ellison cut in, his tone impatient. "I don't want to hear a lot of angst and guilt. You're a cop. You did your job."

A frown puckered Blair's brow and his eyes clouded with confusion as he said quietly, "I know that. That's not the point…"

"It's the _only_ point, Sandburg," Jim replied coldly, pulling his hand from Blair's grip, standing up and away. "I know how it feels, you don't have to explain it to me."

Remembering that Jim had also been forced to kill two men the day before, Blair immediately felt contrite, as he called out softly, "Hey, I'm sorry, man…I didn't mean…"

"Don't you ever get tired of apologizing and feeling bad, Chief?" Ellison again cut in harshly. "Get over it. You saved a lot of lives, ended a volatile, dangerous situation. You did everything right. So, if you killed someone who forced you into it, that's the way it goes. Live with it."

"Jim!" Simon's voice cut in sharply from the doorway. He'd arrived early, bearing clean clothes for Ellison, Blair's glasses and their shaving gear, just in time to hear the last couple of exchanges. And he was furious at the lack of compassion Ellison was showing his partner. For God's sake, Sandburg didn't need a lesson in civics right now…he needed the chance to talk it out, find some measure of peace with the choice he'd had to make, what he'd had to do. "Don't you think you could go a little easier on the kid?"

Ellison's eyes flashed to the door, filled with hot anger and a cold warning to butt out, as he shot back, "No, Captain, I don't think I could. Sandburg chose to be a cop. Yeah, he just killed a man…well, if he's going to be a cop, he'll likely have to kill again someday. The faster he learns to live with it, the better."

Simon looked from Ellison's flushed face to Blair's pale visage and swallowed at the look of confusion and pain he saw there. "Well, you've made your point, Detective. Let's shelve it for now," he said, trying to defuse the situation. The last thing Sandburg needed was a shouting match. "How're you doing, Blair?" he asked, brushing past Ellison to approach the bed.

Something flickered in Blair's eyes before he looked away. Quietly, his voice a little unsteady, he replied, "I'll be okay, Simon, thanks."

Simon hesitated, then said, equally quietly, "I know it hurts, son. But what this lumbering ox you call a partner was trying to say was essentially right. You didn't have a choice. From the statements made by the witnesses, it's clear you did what you could to avoid having to shoot…but he forced you into it, Blair. You saved that young woman's life, maybe the lives of everyone in that bank. It hurts…but it would hurt a lot more to have been able to save those innocent civilians and not done so. You did everything right, remember that."

Blair nodded tightly, his eyes skittering around the room until they finally came to rest on Simon's. Trying to smile, only succeeding in a wobbly facsimile, Blair said, "I know…Jim just told me basically the same thing in his own warm and fuzzy way. Thanks, Simon."

Patting his good shoulder, Simon counseled, "Right now, your job is to rest and get well. If you need to talk about it later, just let me know."

Blair nodded, but looked away. Much as he wanted, needed, to talk about the devastation he felt inside, he knew he'd never raise the issue again with either of these two men. Jim was right, they both knew what it felt like, and making it a big deal, as if it was so much harder for him to bear than it was for them, seemed too much like criticism of their ways of coping. So, he pushed the pain away, rigorously suppressed the tears that threatened, erased as much of what he felt from his face as he could, hiding it all away…until he was alone…and could weep with profound grief for what he'd had to do.

When Ellison saw that look of lost innocence and devastation sweep into Blair's eyes, he wanted to do nothing so much as lunge forward and pull Sandburg into his arms, to lend comfort and strength, to let him cry it out…and find some measure of peace. He felt tears sting his eyes as he swallowed against the lump in his throat. Turning to hide the emotion he couldn't master, Ellison growled gruffly, "You see, Simon. The kid is fine."

But, Simon had seen more than Ellison had counted on. Frowning thoughtfully at the raw, naked anguish he'd seen on Jim's face as the older man had studied his partner, hearing the gruffness and recognizing the sound of tears when he heard it, Simon wondered what the hell was going on.

********************

Jim hung around for an hour after Simon had taken his leave, exhibiting signs of restlessness until he finally told Sandburg that since the kid seemed to be doing fine, there was no real need for him to stay, so he was going to head home, have a shower and get some sleep.

"Sure, Jim," Blair had agreed quietly, taking in his friend's haggard, tired expression, wondering how much sleep Jim had gotten the night before and worried about him. "I'm fine. See you later."

In minutes, Jim had gone, as if he couldn't wait to leave. And Blair was alone, with his thoughts, his memories…and the pain. Tears slipped down the sides of his face as he stared silently up at the ceiling. Sniffing, he figured he'd better get any crying he was going to do done now…he couldn't fall apart in the loft, not even in the dead of night, not with Jim able to hear everything, including a heartbeat made rapid by the peculiar mixture of furious anger, sick guilt and horrific grief he was feeling. Anger, because that guy had forced him, forced him to take a life. Guilt that he hadn't been able to find another way. Grief at having taken something as precious as a life, something as irreplaceable. Bad as that guy might have been, there sure as hell was no way now he'd ever have the chance to reform. That opportunity had been stolen from him when Blair's bullet had smashed through his brain.

Lost in his thoughts, drowning in his feelings, Blair didn't hear Joel quietly enter the room. For a long moment, the older man simply gazed with heartbreaking sorrow upon this gentle man who was suffering so much…suffering alone, Joel was surprised to see, wondering why Jim wasn't there. For a moment, he considered slipping away again, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave when Blair looked so lost, as if the world was ending and he didn't know how to make it right.

Clearing his throat to give warning of his presence, Joel moved forward, a kind smile on his face. "Hey, Blair," he said in greeting.

Startled, mortified, Blair hastily wiped the traces of tears from his face. "Joel…hi. Thanks for coming, man," he said, his voice shaky, rough with emotion.

Looking down for a moment, Joel laid a hand on Blair's shoulder. "It's okay to cry, you know," he said softly. Raising his eyes to Blair's wide blue gaze, he continued, "There're few things in this life that hurt a man as much as taking another person's life."

Blair bit his lip and looked away, desperately fighting back the sob he felt building in his chest. "Blair… where's Jim?" Joel asked, unable to believe Ellison wasn't nearby.

"Home," Sandburg managed to say, his voice cracking. "He…uh…decided to go…home."

Frowning with a mixture of puzzlement and anger, Joel had trouble believing that. "He just left you here, now? When you need…"

"It's okay," Blair sniffed, cutting in quickly, not comfortable with Jim being criticized. "He was hurt, too…he needs to rest."

Blair still wasn't meeting his eyes. Wanting to give support, hoping he was doing the right thing, Joel said gently, "You remember, Blair, I said if you ever need to talk to someone…you could talk to me."

And that was more kindness than Blair could withstand. His lips trembled as tears again filled his eyes and the sob burst from his throat in a low, anguished moan. Gripping Joel's hand tightly, grateful beyond his ability to express for the love and support of this good, decent man, Blair whispered brokenly, "I'm just so… _sorry_ , Joel. I didn't want…didn't want to…ever have to…"

Reaching forward, carefully so as not to hurt his wound, Joel pulled Sandburg up against his chest in a tight hug. Stroking Blair's hair as the young man wept silently against his shoulder, he murmured, "I know, son…God, I'm so sorry you had to do that. I know it hurts. Let it out, Blair…it's okay…let it out."

********************

Blair was able to go home two days later. Much as he wanted to act as if everything was fine, normal, he felt hollow and dispirited, still ached with sorrow. He wished he could talk to Jim about it…but Ellison wasn't giving out any signals of being approachable. Oh, he was there, he helped, did what needed to be done to help Sandburg with the dressing on his wound, with bathing…but it was as if he was just going through the motions.

Finally, the second evening, Blair asked, "Are you alright, man?" It had occurred to him that his ever-protective Sentinel might be feeling his own guilt about not being able to protect his Guide.

Looking up from the book he was reading, Ellison replied with mild surprise, "Yeah, I'm fine, Chief. Why, is something wrong?"

Shaking his head, Blair studied Ellison as he replied, "No, not wrong exactly. But, you've been awfully quiet since I got home."

"I'm not the only one, Chief," Jim replied with a shrug. "I just figured you needed time to, what do you call it? _Process_ …yeah, _process_ what happened."

Sandburg felt as if he'd just been slapped. The words had been innocent enough, but the tone had held a trace of contempt that was unmistakable. Looking away, he swallowed hard, wondering if he was somehow letting Jim down by not coping with all this better. He knew that Jim never took a life coldly or without some regret, but it was as if he'd expected Blair to be better than this, better able to deal with the reality and implications of the choices he'd made when he'd decided to become a cop. "Yeah, right, man…thanks," he murmured. A short while later, he quietly got up and returned to his room.

********************

Blair returned to work two days later, 'light duty' it was called. 'Paperwork' was what he called it. Nevertheless, pitching back into the ongoing weapons' hijacking case gave him something to occupy his mind.

And it was a real relief to know that Internal Affairs had decided there had been an attempt to frame him and had backed off…were in fact working with Major Crimes, Megan and Joel specifically, to see if they couldn't collectively crack the case of the missing evidence.

Surprised to find out the decision had been rendered days before and that others had just assumed Jim had told him, Blair asked his partner why he hadn't shared the news. Unconcerned, Ellison shrugged as he replied off-handedly, "Guess it must have slipped my mind, Chief. Sorry." And then Jim had turned his attention back to the files on his desk, effectively terminating the conversation, leaving Blair to stare at his back in consternation.

It was the little things that wore Blair down as the days progressed. Jim's silent air of inexplicable impatience and disapproval. His constant bitching about files that seemed to somehow get misplaced or misfiled, complaining one day, "Dammit, Sandburg, it's not like you're pulling your full load here. The least you could do is keep the paperwork straight."

"What?" Blair had flared.

"What 'what'?" Jim had flashed back. "You mope around at home and here you seem incapable of doing the little bit of work being assigned to you. Chief, I…" breaking off, he turned away.

"Finish it, Jim, what were you going to say?" Sandburg demanded, stunned by his friend's words and his tone of condemnation.

"I just don't think you're cutting it, Sandburg…I don't think you're making the grade, here," Ellison replied coldly, his back still turned away…and then he walked away, leaving Blair with his mouth hanging open and his heart thudding in double time as he tried to absorb the hurt.

********************

Blair was astonished, when he and Jim arrived for the ceremony, to find Eli's office filled and overflowing into the hall with people who had come to witness the confirmation of his doctorate and to celebrate that so richly deserved achievement with him. Not only were all the members of the Major Crimes Unit there, but Blair was touched to see that William and Steven Ellison had come as well. But, it was the presence of his former colleagues on the teaching staff, and most especially his former students who still regarded him with respect and trust, that most touched his heart.

Though no one could tell from his expression, Jim was both pleased and proud to see Blair so honoured. His friend's surprise and touched gratification at the presence of his former colleagues and students was written all over his face. He didn't miss the respect with which Sandburg was greeted, and it only served to reinforce his views that Blair still had a very real future in academia. A future that was safe, far away from the monsters…far away from guns. Nor did he miss the frozen looks that were directed his way, the contempt with which many of them seemed to regard him for having allowed Blair to make the sacrifice he had. They might not know the full truth of what had happened, but there was no doubt in their minds that Blair Sandburg was a honourable and ethical man. His gaze falling away, Jim couldn't blame them for what they thought about him. They were right. Shifting away from Blair's side, Ellison moved into a corner, where he could watch but not take anything away from the attention Blair was receiving from everyone present.

It was a big day, one that was long overdue. It took everything Ellison had not to reveal how much it meant to him to see Sandburg so happy…or how much it hurt to know that this outstanding success, so deserved, was going to take Blair away from him. Everything except what it took to keep him from throttling that self-righteous harridan, or as she preferred to be called, The Chancellor, for how she was treating Sandburg.

The kid had worked almost half his life to achieve the doctorate the Chancellor was grudgingly presenting to him in Eli's office that afternoon. Blair, still looking a little pale, his arm in a sling, stood beside Eli while Chancellor Edwards said with cool formality, "Blair Sandburg, in recognition of your achievement in completing the requirements for a Doctorate in Philosophy, on behalf of Rainier University, I am here to present you with your degree." With that, she handed Blair the sheepskin scroll, turned and left Eli's office.

Unwilling to allow her inexcusably rude and hostile manner to take away from the satisfaction Blair had every right to feel, Dr. Eli Stoddard turned and held out his hand as he said, "Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg. May I be the first to say what an honour it is to have a scholar of your brilliance and dedication within our ranks. You have made outstanding contributions to the field of Anthropology by increasing our understanding of any number of cultures, both within our country and abroad. May I also say, it's been both my honour and my privilege, as well as my distinct pleasure, to have been your adviser since you came to Rainier University. But, most of all, Blair, I'm grateful for your friendship."

"Thank you, Dr. Stoddard," Blair replied formally, then broke into a wide grin as he moved to hug the older man. "Thanks for everything. I couldn't have done it without you, Eli."

"Hear! Hear!" H. called out, his words the signal for others to cheer loudly, applaud with vigorous enthusiasm and clap Blair on the back as they shouted their congratulations. Eli broke out the champagne and served it around with warm geniality while his assistant offered trays of any number of tempting little morsels. Everyone there was determined to do all they could to make it the joyous occasion it should be for Dr. Blair Sandburg.

But, much as he smiled and acted as if this was one of the happiest days of his life, Blair was only too conscious that his mother hadn't been able to make it back from some remote place of meditation in Peru, and his best friend was standing in a corner, doing a first class imitation of a stone.

********************

Simon steamed all weekend about Jim's behaviour at Blair's party at the university. Dammit. Jim should have organized a big party for the kid. It wasn't every day that someone achieved a Ph.D. Especially given that he might not have gotten it at all, throwing away his chances, hell, everything, to protect that thankless ass Sandburg called a friend and partner. Oh yeah, Simon was very steamed.

Monday morning, he barked out Ellison's name and virtually slammed the door of his office after Jim had entered. Eyes flashing with anger, standing like an avenging angel, Simon demanded, _"What the hell is wrong with you?"_

Jim looked up at his boss, then away. "Would you care to clarify that question, Captain?"

"You have been acting like a prize jackass ever since…" Simon paused, suddenly remembering, understanding. "Ah, Jesus, Jim," he sighed, the force of his anger gone as he recalled that look of devastation on Ellison's face at the hospital, "don't do this…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ellison responded with cool remoteness, his empty eyes coming to rest on Simon's.

"Yeah, right," Banks snorted as he pulled up a chair and sat down facing his best Detective. "You're trying to drive him away, aren't you…for his own good, right?" Simon mused, shaking his head. "Dammit, he's not a child. He's a man…he made his own decision to become a cop. Blast it, Jim…Sandburg doesn't want anything more than to be your partner and friend. Why do you _do_ this to him?"

Ellison's head dropped while he debated being straight with Simon and figured he might as well be. It was pretty clear his boss had twigged to his game. "Because it'll kill him, Simon," he replied quietly. "Either literally…or it'll kill his soul to do what we have to do. I can't do it anymore. I can't accept the price he pays to back me up."

With a heavy sigh, Simon closed his eyes and prayed for strength. "Jim, you don't have the right to make his life choices for him. What you're doing now hurts him more than this job could ever do to him. Can't you see that?"

"No, Simon, I'm afraid I can't," Ellison answered stonily. Raising his eyes to Simon's concerned gaze, he went on, "Think about it, just think about what it has cost him to be my friend. I'm not worth it, Simon… nobody is worth what Sandburg gives. I can't accept it anymore. He has his Ph.D.…he has other choices. I want him to get on with his life. He will, eventually, can't you see that? This…this job that we do…it's not him, Simon. You know that."

"No, Jim, I don't know that," Banks retorted. "Oh, I grant you, Blair is in some ways wasted here. But, you can't make assumptions about what's good for him, or about what he should be doing with his life. You can't just…drive him away like this. Without giving him any say in the matter. Talk to him…tell him your concerns…."

But Ellison just stubbornly shook his head. His face impassive, his eyes cool, he asked, "Was that all, Captain, or was there something else?"

"Hell, yes, there's something else!" Simon spat out. "Just tell me how you're going to manage without him. You know you need him to help handle your senses…"

"Simon, I haven't zoned for months. I managed when he was at the Academy. I managed when he was off duty two weeks ago. If I get into any eal trouble, you know what to do," Jim replied scathingly. "I don't need Blair to do my job."

"Are you sure about that, Ellison?" Simon demanded, not at all sure himself.

"I'm sure," Jim replied. "Now, if there's nothing else…"

Rolling his eyes, Simon shook his head. "No, Detective…there's nothing else."

As Jim stood to go, Banks murmured, "You're a fool, Jim…"

********************

Two days later, Sandburg was at Simon's door, asking for a few minutes of his time.

"Come in, Sandburg," Banks nodded, waving him to a chair. "What's on your mind?" he asked, though he could guess.

Blair sighed, and then shook his head, unable to believe he was doing this. "Simon," he finally began, "have you noticed anything going on with Jim lately?"

Looking away, Banks shrugged, determined not to get in the middle of it all. "Why…is something wrong?"

"I don't know…yes…I guess," Blair replied, uncharacteristically inarticulate.

"Spit it out, Sandburg, I don't have all day," Simon replied, waiting for it.

"Well…maybe it's that we not only live together but work together, I don't know. But…I seem to be really getting on Jim's nerves. He's snapping at me all the time, impatient when he's not being indifferent," Blair replied, trying to explain without sounding like he was whining. "Whatever is wrong, I sure can't seem to do anything right."

"Have you talked to him about it?" Simon inquired.

"I've tried…it's like talking to a brick," Blair replied, disgusted. Looking up at his boss, he suggested tentatively, "I thought…I thought maybe if we could get a little distance it might help. Maybe I could work with Joel and Megan could work with Jim for a while."

"And here I thought you liked Megan," Simon replied dryly.

Blair grinned a little at that. "Yeah, I know he can be a bear sometimes…but, I just don't know what else to suggest," he said with another sigh. "And she knows about him…knows what to do if he gets into trouble. If it's something really bad, I'm still here and could move in if need be."

"Let me get this straight," Simon replied, leaning forward on his elbows. "You want to keep working here, keep being a cop, but you don't want to be Ellison's partner for a while."

"Of course I want to keep working here," Blair exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I?"

Simon shrugged, the picture of innocence. "Well, you have your doctorate now…."

"Simon," Blair cut in, lifting his hands in frustration, "what difference does that make? I made my choice, man. We do important things here…make a difference. What? Do you want me to quit?"

"NO!" Simon exclaimed sharply. "No, absolutely not. You're doing a fine job."

"Well, then, what about the exchange idea? Do you think it's worth trying?" Blair asked, returning to his original concern.

"It's worth a try," Simon nodded. "I'll speak to Joel and Megan. I'm sure there won't be any problem. Will you tell Jim or shall I?"

"I'll tell him," Blair said morosely. "Tonight, when we get home."

As Simon watched Blair head back to his desk, he picked up a cigar and rolled it in his fingers. _This should be interesting_ , he thought. _How will Jim handle having Blair working with someone else, going out on assignments where he won't be present to ensure the kid's all right? Not exactly what you expected, is it, Ellison? But, then, Sandburg doesn't do 'expected'._

********************

"Jim," Blair began as he toyed with his pasta, finally getting up his nerve to say what he had to say, "I talked to Simon today…"

"You talk to Simon everyday, Sandburg, we all do," Ellison replied, taking a swig of beer.

Looking up at his friend, Blair blurted out, "I asked him if Megan and I could exchange duties for a while, if I could work with Joel, while she works with you."

Carefully setting the beer bottle down on the table, Jim turned his cold gaze on his partner. "You what? Without discussing it with me?"

"Yeah…well, it's pretty clear you're not happy with my performance, Jim," Blair murmured, looking away from that icy gaze. Shrugging, he persevered, "I just seem to be getting on your nerves…and well, I can understand why. We work together, we live together…it's not like when I was at Rainier and you had some space…"

Blair's voice faltered, conscious of the waves of anger that were radiating from his friend. "Look, if I made a mistake, and you don't want to switch…"

"No, no, that's fine, Chief," Jim cut in, his voice laced with venom. "Whatever works for you."

Sighing, Blair tried to defuse the anger. "Jim, if you're mad, or want to yell at me, go ahead. But, I'm really getting tired of the contempt." Though his words were provocative, his voice remained calm, reasonable. "If I've done something to piss you off, I really wish you'd let me know what it is."

"You haven't done a thing, Sandburg," Ellison replied, standing abruptly to leave the table. "Not a damned thing."

As Ellison grabbed his jacket and slammed out of the apartment, Blair rubbed his head as he murmured, "You say that like it's a crime, Jim…what the hell is going on with you?"

Blair wracked his brain to try to figure out Ellison's behaviour, but he didn't come up with anything more that night than he had come up with any evening of the preceding weeks. Staring at the ceiling of his room, he tracked it back one more time. The IA investigation had been going on…with all the misery that had involved. The whole thing kept coming back to why Jim would work with a liar and a fraud, and the only reason they could come up with was the insinuation that the two of them had to be more than room-mates. Jim had joked about it, said he didn't care…but did he care? He was a pretty uptight, conservative guy. He valued his 'righteous' reputation. Was it starting to get to him that people thought he was putting up with a fraud and liar for reasons other than platonic friendship and Blair's competence as a detective? And, right on the heels of that had been that disastrous bank robbery. Jim couldn't handle Blair's guilt about killing a man, however clear it was that there had been no choice. Was he offended by Blair's reaction? Considering it somehow a judgment on his own ability to cope with the grim realities of their jobs? Was it that he hadn't been able to protect Blair from getting shot? Was that it? Jim seemed increasingly uncomfortable with Blair's role as a full-fledged police officer, not just an observer who could be coddled and kept out of danger. Was it as simple as the fact that they were spending so much time together now, giving Jim a bad case of 'cabin fever'?

One of the above, some of the above, all of the above or none of the above? God, how Blair wished he could read that man's mind. It would be so much simpler if he didn't have to guess, if Jim would just talk to him and tell him what was wrong.

Round and round his thoughts went, questions swirling in his head.

But, he still couldn't seem to come up with any answers. Only assumptions. Assumptions leaving him feeling bleak and more than a little scared. Because any way he looked at it, it came back to the same thing.

Whatever the mysterious reason, Jim seemed real tired of having him around.

If the modest degree of space he could offer by working with Joel wasn't enough…what then?

Closing his eyes, Blair really didn't want to go there.

Because 'there' meant he might have to give up the only space that was left. He might have to move out, leave the only real home he'd ever had.

********************

The air in Major Crimes was thick with tension the next morning, largely because Detective Jim Ellison was in full 'bear' mode, snarling at anyone who got too close.

When Blair carried the files he'd been working on to Megan's desk, she looked up at him with a pained expression on her face as she hissed so that Ellison wouldn't hear her, "I thought you were a friend of mine."

"He can still hear you," Blair whispered back and she rolled her eyes. Thinking she was serious, Blair's face clouded, as he offered, "Look, Megan, if you don't want to do this…I mean, Jim's my best friend and he can be really great to work with, it's just that sometimes I get on his nerves and I thought he could use a break…."

" _You_ get on _his_ nerves?" Megan repeated, her eyes wide. "Sandy, you are a saint and everyone here knows it. You are the only person he has ever not only agreed to work with, but wants to work with. But," she smiled then, letting him know she was teasing, or partly teasing anyway, "even saints deserve a break now and then. Just don't leave me there for too long, okay?"

Blair grinned as he nodded. "Believe me, I can't wait for things to…well, get back to normal. I hope this won't have to be for long," he said sincerely.

Glancing over toward Jim, Blair could see Ellison was making a great show of being engrossed in his computer screen. But the back of his neck was flushed and his muscles tense…he'd heard their exchange and wasn't amused. Sighing, Blair shook his head, wishing he could figure out what was wrong.

Taking pity on him, Megan patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Sandy, I'm sure this is just a mood thing that will blow over. Now, here are my files. Joel and I have been working on trying to crack the caper of the runaway evidence. Here are the security videos, which is frankly all there is to go on. And here is a list of everything that has been taken over the last four years. However…in going over the old records, I discovered that this might have been going on for at least ten years. Only weapons have been taken until now…fancy pieces, good stuff, and your garden-variety handguns. There doesn't appear to be any particular pattern, no correlation with officers on duty at the time, or with officers submitting confiscated weapons for evidence. There is no predictability as to when to anticipate another rip-off will occur, zip. It's odd, I'll give it that. Odd, and very subtle."

"Okay, thanks," Blair said as he picked up the box full of videos and files and headed back to his desk.

Dumping the box on his desk, studiously ignoring the waves of animosity radiating from Jim, Blair rummaged in it and pulled out a handful of videos. Might as well begin with 'all they had'. He went to one of the small conference rooms and watched boring, black and white, grainy videotapes for two hours. Sighing, he shook his head as he gathered them back together and headed back to his office. Megan was right. There didn't seem to be much there. Just the usual activity, the usual traffic of people who had every right to be there. Nothing suspicious. Nothing stealthy. Nothing, period.

Back at his desk, he pulled out the files and began his usual pattern of meticulous research. First, he reviewed the dates and times that the thefts had been discovered, but that didn't reveal much because the discovery only came when the evidence was requisitioned which didn't have any necessary relationship with when it was stolen. Then, he went through the registration numbers of the weapons that had been taken. When he realized that none of that had been entered electronically in a separate program, he sighed but set about the time consuming, meticulous task of inputting all of that information.

It took two days.

Once the data was in, he decided to see if any of the weapons had turned up anywhere else. Sending out the information to other police organizations across the state, and then thinking, _what the hell_ , nationally, he requested any information that might be had on the weapons in question.

He waited another day and a half.

And then it started pouring in. Responses from other police departments in the State of Washington, from neighbouring states, and then from states all across the country, including from the FBI. Weapons that had once been in their evidence locker were showing up as seized in busts and in arrests, all over the country.

 _Now, that's interesting_ , Blair thought. How did the guns manage to wander so far away? Squinting in thought, he decided to run another program, and sent out the registration numbers of the weapons lost in the hijack of semis over the past six months.

A day later, he discovered that a fair number of these weapons had also gotten into circulation.

Even more interesting was the information he got back that their evidence lock up wasn't the only one being pilfered. "Why are some cities involved and not others?" he mused, frowning. "What's the common denominator?"

He was even more surprised to learn that semis in other parts of the country, carrying military or large commercial supplies of weaponry had also been hijacked. "Would have been nice if the military had told us that," he groused to himself. Secrets. Everyone was always keeping secrets. How was a guy supposed to do his job if no one ever told him anything?

Sighing, he sat back and brainstormed in his head all the different groups of people who worked in any organization. Once again, he went back to his computer, entered in the variables, such as secretaries, drivers, salesmen, buyers, managers, executives, clerks, admin assistants, finance officers, human resource officers, computer technicians, cleaners, telecommunications contractors, caterers, and so on. Once again, he wrote back out asking for information on what contractors, if any, were routinely used for any of the listed functions. Again, he was forced to sit back and wait until information came in from his counterparts across the country.

Finally, he was able to hit the key and let the machine do the work, processing through bits of information, looking for the common factor, if any.

When he got the results, he sat back, shaking his head, murmuring, "Shape shifter, who would have guessed?" Then he went back to the videotapes.

"Gotcha," he breathed, focusing on the movements of specific staff, when their actions could be clearly seen and when not.

And then he went to Joel.

"It's circumstantial, I know…there's no real evidence to connect it all," Blair said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he waited for Joel's reaction.

"But, highly suggestive and very, very likely," the older man mused. Looking up, Joel gave Sandburg a warm smile. "Good work, Blair… _very_ good work. I think it's time we share this with Simon."

Within fifteen minutes, Blair had outlined his research approach, the correlations he'd made, the extent of the distribution of stolen weaponry, and came to his conclusion. "It's the Proteus Cleaning Company, Simon. They are the only common denominator. 'Proteus' was a minor Greek God in the ancient pantheon, a shape shifter. Whoever is in charge of this operation has a sense of humour," he said, unable to resist adding the esoteric information.

"Do you see me laughing, Sandburg?" Simon asked quellingly while he thought about what had been laid out for him. Good Lord, the kid had taken a local, internal issue of evidence pilfering and discovered what looked like a nation wide weapons laundering system.

"No sir," Blair replied, his voice subdued but a grin dancing on his lips. He knew he'd done good work and they had the first break in the case anyone had had in years. And, even better, he'd tied the internal thefts to the bigger case of the hijacked semis.

"How long has this department been doing business with this Proteus Cleaning Company?" Simon asked.

"Almost ten years, Captain," Blair reported. "Two five-year contracts, back to back. It's up for renewal again in a month."

Chewing on his lip, Simon nodded. It wasn't enough for any court. But it was certainly more than enough to move forward. "Good work, Sandburg, very good work. Let's share this with Ellison and Conner…and let our friends from IA know we've cracked their case for them," he said with no little satisfaction.

********************

Ellison found it hard, worse than hard, damned near impossible, to keep the light of pride from his eyes or a wide smile of congratulation from his lips when Simon, Joel and Blair shared the information with him and Megan. But, years of covert ops training and experience had taught him to school his expressions and hide his emotions and his thoughts. Even then, he couldn't hold back all trace of warmth from his eyes, or his voice. Blair Sandburg had come through again; his unconventional way of looking at things, his technical skills in computer research, his penchant for meticulous detail and the patience that took…he'd broken the case wide open.

"Good work, Sandburg," he muttered, not quite meeting Blair's eyes before he again looked away and dove into the discussions about the next steps.

 _'Good work, Sandburg'?_ Blair thought, with rising disappointment. _Don't strain yourself with excitement or anything, man. It's not like we've been working on this case for months or anything…_

But, Sandburg pushed his reaction aside and entered into the discussions about how they might use this lead to draw out the criminals and get the evidence they needed to make a case.

Later that evening over yet another painfully quiet dinner, Blair sighed and pushed back his plate. "We have to talk, Jim," he said quietly.

"About what, Sandburg?" Jim asked, looking up, his eyes so cool and distant that it made Blair's heart ache.

"About us, man…about how this just isn't working anymore, and I don't know what to do about it," Blair replied, his eyes wide with anxious sorrow. "You have got to give me a clue, Jim…you have got to tell me what's going on with you."

"Sounds like there's an ultimatum in there somewhere, Chief," Ellison replied, leaning back, his hands lying loosely on either side of his plate.

Swallowing, Blair looked at him for a long moment, a look of pleading in his eyes, but there was nothing, scarcely even mild interest in Jim's gaze. Looking down and away, shaking his head, Blair murmured, "If you don't want me here anymore, you just have to say so, Jim."

"This is your home, Sandburg. I promised you that," Ellison replied, his voice flat.

A smack across the face might have been more merciful. Taking a shuddering breath, lifting his eyes again to watch Jim's face, Blair said mournfully, "I don't know what you want from me…I don't know what else I can do, or give to you, to…to convince you that I'm on your side. Jim…what is it going to take? I've…"

"Is this going to be a recitation of what it's cost you over the years, Sandburg? Because I'm not sure I need to hear it," Jim cut in, his voice cold.

And that did it.

Blair felt his anger push past the hurt, felt rage stir in his heart. "Yeah, maybe…maybe it is an accounting. I have _died_ because I wouldn't betray you, Jim. I have given up my career and my reputation to protect you. Dammit, I have _killed_ a man because that was part of the deal…part of getting the right to be your partner, to back you up," Sandburg blurted out, his voice low and intense, his eyes flashing with fury. "And nothing is ever enough to convince you, never enough to meet your standards, whatever the hell they are, man. Well, I can't do this anymore. I can't put up with the contempt and the silences and the nasty little digs. Or the lack of respect. I thought we were friends, Jim. I thought that our friendship, our partnership, mattered to you. I guess I was wrong."

Jim held Blair's look as long as he could stand it before he lost it completely. He had to clamp his jaw tight to force back the words it was killing him not to say. Looking away, he told himself this was what he'd set out to do…hurt Blair so bad that he'd go. Hurt him to save him. Swallowing, Ellison looked back at his best friend, the only partner he ever wanted, the man he respected more than any other in his life. "Sandburg, I never asked you to do any of that," he replied stiffly. "And, you're right. This isn't working anymore. But, if you think _I'm_ going to leave, you're crazy."

 _Oh man, you left weeks ago…you just forgot to tell your body, or your Guide, where you went_ , Blair thought as he blinked and blew out a breath of disbelief. "There're more ways than one of kicking someone out of their home, Jim," he said, his voice cracking. "It's not just about packing up their gear."

"Sandburg, whether you leave or stay, the decision is yours," Jim replied, his voice indifferent.

"Okay, Jim, you win," Blair stated with weary resignation. "Whatever the game is, you win. I'm done playing." Standing, Blair left the table and went to his room where he pulled out his duffel and started to pack. He could get a motel room for a couple of days until he found something more permanent. At least he had a pay cheque now and could afford someplace decent. With grim determination, he blinked back the tears that glazed his vision, and beat back the rising tide of grief in his chest. Not now. He would not lose it now. He had his dignity, and he had his anger, to sustain him.

Hoisting the bag over his shoulder, he left the bedroom without a backward look. Jim watched him track across the room and grab his jacket before asking quietly, "You quitting the whole game, Sandburg, or just part of it? Does this mean you'll be looking for another job, too?"

There was a taunt in the voice, almost like he was laying a bet, 'double or nothing'.

Blair paused for a moment, then turned, his voice fierce as he replied, "If you think you're going to drive me away from my job, forget it. I'm a cop…that's not going to change. So you'd better accept that you can't push me that far away, that you're going to have to deal with me and, whether you want to or not, you'd better be able to work with me with a modicum of civility and respect. I'm not going to take any more crap from you, Jim. That ends now."

Without waiting for a response, Blair yanked the door open, walked through it and slammed it behind him. Jim listened to the angry clatter of shoes on the steps, and the slam of the outside door. He heard the Volvo start up and he heard it drive away.

Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, he wept.

********************

After so many months of frustration, the break in the case brightened everyone's spirits, with the exception perhaps of the stone cold Jim Ellison, but they'd actually gotten used to his moroseness again and scarcely noticed. It was also a certain relief to be able to deduce that the military weapons hadn't been stolen by some paramilitary wacko operation, but was a fairly straightforward acquire and sell operation. Not great, but better than worrying that a small revolution might break out at any moment.

But, Sandburg's initial assessment was correct. There wasn't enough to make a case. Still, administration decided that the next five-year cleaning contract would be awarded to a new company.

And they had enough to work on with the management of the trucking company to judiciously leave information where it might be conveniently found…lying loose on desks, discarded copies in waste paper baskets, unguarded conversations about logistics and transportation arrangements within earshot of the cleaning staff.

They set up the surveillance operation, both on the truck destined to carry the next haul of weaponry, and on the local cleaning company, which had two large warehouses on the edge of town. Jim and Megan pulled the duty on the truck; Joel and Blair got the warehouses, which were conveniently located side by side on the industrial parkway.

********************

"Stakeouts are boring, man," Blair observed as he yawned and stretched. It was late afternoon and they'd been sitting there for four hours. Cleaning crews, vans, warehouse workers, supply trucks had come and gone, but they'd seen nothing particularly suspicious or untoward.

"Patience, Blair, patience," Joel soothed, rolling his neck to loosen his own still muscles.

"Yeah, so Jim has always told me," Blair grinned.

"Really?" Joel replied. "Jim doesn't strike me as a patient man."

"You'd be surprised, Joel…the man can sit like a statue, taking it all in and never lose focus," Sandburg said. "Me…I'm always twitching, and talking and generally driving him crazy. But, Jim…man, there is a guy who can persevere with scary resolve. Nothing, but nothing, can distract him from the target, from the result he's after."

"You're right about that," Joel nodded. "Once he's made his mind up, it's hard to shift him."

They thought about that, both of them silently musing about what was motivating Jim now, what he had decided that had led him to build the wall between him and Sandburg? Ruefully, Blair glanced at Joel, who had no idea just how high that wall had gotten. He hadn't told anyone yet that he'd moved out, and since Jim didn't talk to anyone about anything except what was required in their work, Blair knew no one had heard of their latest falling out. He didn't look forward to the reactions when word did get around.

Four hours later, they were relieved by Rafe and H.

Sandburg dropped Joel off at his house, and headed back to his room at the motel. As he entered the Spartan, impersonal room and kicked off his shoes, he decided he'd better let Simon at least know he wasn't living at the loft anymore. But, dispirited, he figured that could wait until morning.

Slumping into the uncomfortable single chair in the room, he picked up the remote and clicked through the channels, finally deciding on an old movie being shown on the local station. Not really interested, but not having anything else to do, he was debating whether to turn it off, and just go to bed, or stare at the screen for another half hour or so when the news brief flashed on.

Standing on a dark highway illuminated by the garish red pulses of emergency vehicle lights, a blazing truck fire behind her, the local newscaster gave the community the late breaking news. "Just over an hour ago, a high speed chase between the driver of the semi behind me and the Cascade Police ended tragically. The driver of the truck was killed instantly when the truck rolled and exploded. It appears that the police detective's vehicle was forced off the road just before the crash, rolling down the embankment." The camera view shifted to show the mangled remains of an upside down truck lying nose down at the base of the steep slope before cutting back to the newscaster. "The Cascade PD detective has only just a few minutes ago been cut from the wreckage and taken by ambulance to the hospital. His injuries are thought to be critical. Information on the two men involved is being withheld pending the notification of their next of kin. This is News Ten at 10:00. More at 11:00."

Blair felt as if his blood had turned to ice. " _Jim? Oh my God,_ " he breathed and then he lunged for the phone. Pounding in the number, he whispered, "Come on, come on," and when Simon answered, he demanded, "Where is he? Where did they take him?"

"Sandburg? Where the _hell_ are you? I've trying to track you down for an hour now," Simon shouted back, frustration and fear vibrating in his voice.

 ** _"Where IS he?_** " Blair demanded again.

"Cascade General…you'd better get down here quick," Simon replied.

Simon hadn't finished speaking before the dial tone sounded in his ear. Blair had already raced out of the motel room to his car.

********************

**_Chapter Four: But Then Face to Face_ **

All the way in, he'd prayed to whomever was listening, prayed with everything he had. His heart was pounding as if he'd run a marathon, his breath tight in his chest, his muscles rigid with anxious fear. It was bad; he could feel it. Dammit…he could feel it. Jim was dying. _Oh God, oh God, please don't do this_ , he pleaded.

When Blair ran breathlessly into the Emergency Unit, he found Simon and Megan waiting there for him. Not wasting time on any preliminaries, Sandburg demanded, "How bad is it? When can I see him?"

Simon laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, his face grave. Megan turned away, tears on her cheeks. For a breathless, endless, agonizing moment, Blair wondered if Jim was dead. Wide blue eyes begging for a reprieve stared up into Simon's compassionate gaze. "It's bad, Blair," Simon said quietly, fighting for his own calm. "He's in surgery…"

"Oh God, he's still alive," Blair exclaimed, almost sobbing in relief.

"Blair…listen to me," Simon ordered firmly if gently as he gripped Sandburg's shoulders tightly. "They don't know if they'll be able to hold onto him. He suffered a compressed skull fracture, as well as massive trauma to his chest and abdomen. He lost a lot of blood while they were cutting him out…He…he went into arrest on the way in but they managed to bring him back. You have to prepare yourself…"

"NO!" Blair exclaimed, pulling away. "No. He's going to make it, Simon," Sandburg protested, not wanting to hear any more, not wanting to accept there was no hope, unable to imagine a world without Jim Ellison in it. "No," he protested again, fighting back tears. He would NOT cry. Crying meant it was over. Crying meant that he'd lost Jim…lost his best friend…lost his Sentinel.

It was inconceivable.

Impossible.

It couldn't happen.

And he held onto that thought with dear life as he took deep, ragged breaths, forcing himself into an unnatural calm while his mind screamed, _Jim! Jim! Don't you **dare** leave me! **Jim!**_

"Take it easy, son," Simon soothed, his own eyes glittering with unshed tears in the harsh fluorescent lights. "I know it's hard."

"You're not hearing me, Simon," Blair cut in again almost harshly, fighting the panic, his voice tight in his throat. "He's not going to die…he can't…"

"Blair, you have his power of attorney. You need to be ready…there may be decisions that you have to make," Simon persevered, holding onto the details because the impact of what was happening overwhelmed him. Jim had been his friend, good friend, for years. Captain Simon Banks was also in a lot of pain. "I think we should call his family."

"Fine," Blair agreed, nodding as he dug into his pocket for his cell then remembered he'd left it at the loft in its charger, forgetting it when he'd stormed out the night before. "Can I borrow your cell," he asked, then took another deep steadying breath, forcing his muscles to relax. He didn't need to be afraid, he told himself, _Jim won't give up. Jim's a fighter…he won't quit._

"You can take a minute, Sandburg…wrap your head around…" Simon offered, worried about the kid, seeing the denial that would only make it worse if, well, Banks didn't want to think about that either.

"I'm fine," Blair cut in tightly, his face pale with shock, but with a clear conviction burning in his eyes. "I told you…"

"Yeah, I heard you, he's going to be alright," Simon cut in wearily as he closed his eyes and turned his head away, wishing with all his heart he could believe it as he pulled the cell from his pocket and held it out toward Sandburg.

Taking Simon's phone, Blair punched in first William's number and then Steven's. Briefly, calmly, he informed them that Jim had been in an accident and had sustained serious injuries, that he was at Cascade General, currently in the operating room. He offered them the option of coming down immediately or waiting until he called later with more news. They both opted to wait at home, seeing no use in waiting fruitlessly for what might be hours at the hospital. Concluding the calls, Blair handed the phone back to Simon, then demanded, "What the _hell_ happened tonight?"

Megan moved closer, laying a hand on Sandburg's shoulder as she replied wearily, "We were doing a tandem tail and following the bait, the semi that was carrying some weapons but mostly ammunition. When the driver pulled off at his regular stop for dinner, we maintained surveillance on the truck. As soon as the driver was out of sight, another man came out of the shadows. He had the keys for the truck, and he drove it off. We'd called in for a roadblock about ten miles ahead. Jim…Jim was moving up on the inside, to keep the truck from swinging out and around. The driver of the truck sped up, started to sway, to ram him and drive him out of the way…and that's when the truck driver spotted the roadblock. I guess he must have panicked. The truck went out of control, smashing Jim's vehicle hard and driving it off the road just before the semi jackknifed and rolled, exploding when it crashed. Jim was…Jim was trapped upside down, pinned against the steering wheel…he was unconscious, Sandy…he wasn't feeling any pain."

"You don't know that," Blair replied, closing his eyes as he turned away. _Unconscious or zoned?_ he wondered, forcing his mind to practical considerations, to what his friend would need from him. Or first one and then the other? God, he needed to see Jim, needed to determine for himself what he had to do to help his Sentinel. The compulsion was overwhelming, and it was all he could to keep himself from charging right into the operating theatre. All the conflict between them, all the harsh words, none of it mattered. _Just like before_ , Blair recalled, when he'd raced to save his Sentinel from a warehouse explosion and ended up saving him from a bullet.

Staring up at the large, round clock high on the wall, not really seeing it, he knew finally and irrevocably, with inescapable clarity, that he had no choice. He was tied to Jim Ellison in a way he didn't understand, and there could be no walking away. Ultimately, it was why he knew he could never leave Major Crimes. It wasn't about a career, not about being a cop, never had been. It was about being near Jim. Even if he and Jim were estranged, he could not stray far. He _needed_ to be the Guide. He _needed_ his Sentinel. _It was what he was._

They were bound together whether Jim wanted that or not.

Blair bit his lip in frustration, unconsciously shaking his head. For all they tried, for all they meant to each other, it _wasn't_ working…they kept coming up against these damned walls. It wouldn't work, couldn't work, if only one of the essential pair was fully and utterly committed, if only one of the two was completely open and vulnerable to the other. It couldn't work unless the love both ways was unconditional, grounded in perfect and absolute trust.

Blair's lips parted at that revelation.

" _Oh my God,_ " he murmured under his breath, stricken by his failure. "How could I have been so _stupid_? Incacha, why didn't you ever _tell_ me? I've been doing this all _wrong_ …being a researcher, or student… even friend…but not a _guide_! _Dammit!_ I've been so busy focusing on the _senses_ , and…and the _stuff_ that's been going on around us…that I lost sight of the _man_ …."

Looking up, sightlessly staring at the clock, he shook his head as he whispered to himself. "I've kept letting him get lost…oh, God, Jim…I am _so_ sorry."

Bowing his head, he ran trembling fingers back through his hair. _Please_ , he prayed, passionately pleading for a reprieve, _**please** , give me one more chance to make it right._

********************

The long hours of the night dragged on with excruciating slowness. Simon had sent Megan back to the office to write up her report and then to go home and get some sleep. But, the captain had no intention of leaving himself, so he accompanied Blair to the visitors' waiting lounge outside the surgical unit. Sandburg paced and watched the clock while Simon watched Sandburg, wondering how long it would be before that eerie calm shattered and the kid fell apart.

"Sandburg," Simon began again just after 3:00 a.m., "Blair…you're wearing a hole in the floor. Sit down. You won't do anyone any good if you exhaust yourself."

The first three times he'd made the suggestion, Sandburg had simply shrugged and ignored him. This time, however, Blair turned to respond, and for the first time, really saw Simon. Saw the gray, haggard look, the anguished eyes, and the slumped posture. Moving to take a seat across from Banks, Blair leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his expression clear and earnest as he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Simon. I forgot, this is hard on you, too."

Sighing, Simon nodded glumly. "Yeah, kid, it is," he admitted.

"Simon…you have to believe me. Jim isn't going to die," Blair soothed, his voice warmly confident.

Suddenly unable to stand the denial, needing to face the facts, Simon snapped, "You don't know that, Sandburg. You didn't see…"

Looking away, closing his eyes for a moment against the image of his best friend bloody and broken, Blair shook his head. But, he insisted with quiet vehemence, "Yes, I do know."

"Right," Simon snorted, leaning back in his chair, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Have you been reading the leaves in your teacup or is this just some kind of weird vision that you have?" he asked disparagingly, not wanting to hurt, but believing Sandburg had to come to grips with reality or that reality would roll right over him and crush him.

"Simon…" Blair began then paused, wondering how he could explain why he was so certain that this wasn't it, that it wasn't going to end like this, so futilely, with so much left unsaid and undone. Looking back at his Captain and friend, his eyes earnest, he tried to find the words as he began again. "Simon, I don't have any mystical knowledge. It's Jim who has the visions, not me. Though I've never understood why. But…I do know that something…something bigger than us, call it Fate, call it whatever you want…something brought Jim and me together, led us to one another. And though we've been through hell, that 'something' has made sure we've stayed together. There has to be a reason for that…some purpose that hasn't been fulfilled yet. It's not time, Simon…it's not time for Jim to go…anymore than it was time for me to go at the fountain."

Slipping on his glasses, Simon found himself remembering those inexplicable moments when Ellison had been as certain as Sandburg was now that Blair wasn't dead. And that time, they'd had a dead body lying on the ground at their feet. At least this time, so far as he knew, Jim was still breathing. For just a moment, he felt a warmth steal over him as he remembered that blinding light that had come from nowhere, springing from the union of Ellison's hands against Blair's face and he trembled.

And then, an odd thought occurred to him and he wondered aloud, "Why do we always call it the 'Sandburg Zone'?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" Blair asked, not sure what Simon was talking about.

"When strange things happen…why do we all think of it as the 'Sandburg Zone' not the 'Ellison Zone'?" Simon clarified, his gaze distant, trying to figure it out. "We've all always focused on Jim, his Sentinel senses, as if he were the center of it all, and yet we think of it as the 'Sandburg Zone'." Turning to Blair, his gaze puzzled, confused, he tried to make sense of it.

"Because the Sentinel can't function fully without the Guide," Blair murmured. "Without the Guide, it's all just a jumble of sensation, muddled by distractions and emotions, by assumptions and beliefs and experiences that just get in the way. The Guide brings clarity."

"But…Jim functioned in the jungle…you weren't there…" Simon questioned, wanting to understand this, needing to get it straight in his head.

"No…but Incacha was and, as a great Shaman, he could render assistance…he could point out the choices, the questions…but he wasn't the Guide. He couldn't lead…" Blair reflected, also trying to work it out, to stop guessing and _know_ what it was he was to do. "I've been guessing at things, asking the questions, trying to understand." Suddenly, it was if as pure energy filled him as he sat up straighter. "That's it. Simon, that's it. I've been following when I should have been leading, accepting when I should have been challenging, allowing Jim to…to determine how far he can go with all this, how our partnership works, or doesn't…I gave him space when I should have been moving in closer, demanding to be heard. I've kept letting him get lost."

"Sandburg, do you have any idea what you're talking about?" Simon groused.

Looking up at him, Blair replied with a tone of wonder, "Yeah, Simon, I do. For the first time, I _know_ what I have to do."

"Fine, then you can make it a bit clearer for me?" Simon asked, frustrated.

" _I'm_ the Guide, Simon. I am as programmed genetically for my role as Jim is to be a Sentinel. A Guide _leads_ , Simon…that's the whole point of a guide, right, when you go hunting or to a special fishing spot. The guide doesn't follow, the guide _leads_ ," Blair answered, confidence burning in his eyes. He knew he was right about this. It was a moment of sharp, crystalline, illumination and his mind was speeding, back to all they'd done, said, the confusions, the hurts, the rejections, the separations…and forward, to where he needed to go, where he needed to lead Jim or…or they'd both fail. Jim couldn't find the path on his own…he tried. Over and over, he tried, but he kept stumbling around, tripping over the same things, going in circles, helpless to find his own way out. "I won't fail him this time, Simon. I won't."

"Jim's not a follower, Blair…what if he refuses to follow you," Simon asked, frowning. He couldn't imagine Ellison giving up control that completely or irrevocably.

"Then, that will be his choice, not just his reaction to circumstances. I have to allow him the choice, he has to want to follow. But, if he refuses, he will not be a Sentinel, Simon," Blair said, knowing this time there could be no half measures, no pausing at the brink or hesitations. Knowing a refusal to join his Guide 'in the water' this time might well be irrevocable.

"And…if that happens, will you still be a Guide?" Simon asked, feeling like he was caught in the kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo he didn't want to have to deal with.

"No…but I have other responsibilities I haven't paid any attention to at all so far," Blair replied, looking away and out of the window toward the skyline.

"Being a cop you mean, or a professor?" Simon pressed.

"Those things, maybe, probably," Blair replied his voice distant, "but more than that, I am the Shaman of a Great City, Simon. And it's time I figured out what that means."

Simon groaned as he covered his eyes with his hand. Yep, he was in the 'Sandburg Zone' all right. And he wasn't sure he was ever going to find his way back out to anything that had resembled reality before this kid had blasted into their lives.

It was a funny thing, though. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to find a way out.

********************

It was after five a.m. before the weary surgeon emerged from the restricted area beyond the double doors. It had been a long, hard battle for life. Blair and Simon were immediately on their feet, moving toward him, grateful beyond words to know they could finally learn how Jim was doing.

Dressed in his green scrubs, mask still hanging around his throat, the lean man projected a vigour and intelligence that the weariness could not tarnish. "You're the people waiting to hear about Mr. Ellison, I presume?" he said as they approached.

"Yes, sir," Blair replied. "I'm Blair Sandburg, Jim's room-mate, and this is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade Police Department. How is he?"

"I'm Doctor Reynolds and I performed the surgery on your friend. I know you are anxious about him and I wish I could tell you everything is going to be fine, but it's too soon to tell just yet. He's breathing, but not on his own," the surgeon explained. "Your friend has suffered severe injuries and we've patched him up as best we can for now. The blood loss has been replaced, the damage to his lungs, kidney and abdominal wall have been repaired. We've had to drill a small hole into his skull to relieve the pressure of the compressed fracture just over his left ear which, fortunately, was small, not as severe as we'd first feared. I'm guardedly hopeful, I suppose is the best way of putting it. If he holds his own over the next few days, and if the edema from the skull fracture doesn't do any permanent damage, well, then, he'll be fine. Broken bones heal."

"When can we see him?" Blair asked, holding his emotions in check. He hated to think of Jim so hurt and couldn't imagine the pain all this would involve before he was well again. At least he had the dials, if he was conscious enough to be able to access them.

"Give us another hour to be sure he stays stable, and then you can visit in the Intensive Care Unit. Do you know where that is?" Dr. Reynolds asked.

"Yes, thank you, doctor…" Blair replied. Man, did they know where ICU was…he could wish they didn't know so well.

********************

Blair winced in empathy and sighed with sorrow when he was finally admitted to the restricted access area of ICU and saw Jim lying so helpless and still. It looked like every inch of his bruised and battered body was covered with bandages, gauze or plaster, with lines and tubes snaking into and around his body, monitoring his heartbeat, breathing for him, carrying fluids in and bearing waste away. Moving forward, he hesitated for a moment, but knew he had to touch Jim. Reaching out, Blair wrapped his fingers around Jim's limp hand and squeezed as he said, "I just can't let you out of my sight, can I, Jim? _One night_. I'm gone one night and look at the mess you've gotten yourself into." For a moment, Blair's grief at how badly Jim was hurt, how much he must have suffered at the accident scene and at the prospect of the long weeks ahead, swept over him and he trembled, his eyes glazing with tears. "I'm sorry, my brother…I am so sorry you are suffering this," he murmured.

But, Blair blinked back the tears and took a steadying breath. Jim didn't need tears, couldn't use grief. He needed a Guide who knew the way, who was sure and confident, unshakable and unswerving. Drawing a chair close to the head of the bed, he sat down and leaned forward, once again covering Jim's hand with his own firm but gentle grip as he murmured into Jim's ear. "I'm here, Jim…and… _I'm not leaving_. I've thought about what was happening and I know why we were having trouble. I've let you get away with a lot of nonsense, indulged you…and that stops right now. _I am your Guide_ , Jim and I am going to show you the way. _You will follow me_ , do you hear me? _You will follow where I lead_."

Leaning back, his thumb unconsciously massaging the back of Jim's hand, Blair continued to speak, his voice low, but not too faint for a Sentinel's ears. "I understand now what we were missing," he explained. "I didn't understand what my role was, and neither did you. Oh, you'd follow me on the small stuff, the tests to understand your senses, to learn to manage them. But neither of us got what it meant that it was my voice that you would follow when you were lost in a zone. You're programmed to follow my voice, Jim, just as I'm programmed to be your Guide. We are intertwined, linked…it just doesn't work, wouldn't work, with someone else. You knew that didn't you? You knew, somehow, that you needed a guide, that you need _me_ …that's why you had to bring me back at the fountain. It was irresistible. Like, I needed to find you. All those years _knowing_ there was a Sentinel out there, knowing if I just kept looking, I'd find you. Because you _needed_ me. I _had_ to find you. Face it, it's bigger than us, man. Somehow, some way, we are a part of the cosmos and we have a role to play, _together_."

Blair watched and listened to the machines as he lightly stroked his hands along Jim's arms, his head and face, his chest and body, his legs, imprinting his touch upon the Sentinel deliberately. As he worked, Ellison's heart rate grew steadier, stronger. "That's it, Jim…follow my touch, the sound of my voice. You aren't going to leave me, are you? You said that the other night. That if I thought you were going to be the one to leave, I was crazy." Letting his thoughts drift, Sandburg recalled other bits of conversations, turning the situations around, trying to look at them from Jim's perspective. They'd been fine up until that bank hold up. It didn't have anything to do with the IA investigation and what people might think about them. Jim had said he didn't care, and he'd meant it. There had been honesty, a candour in his eyes that was unmistakable. And, from what Blair could remember of that night, when he'd first woken up, Jim had been so gentle…trying to soothe away the pain.

But the morning Blair woke up after being shot, the eyes had gone flat when they gazed at him at all. Emotion and thought blocked away behind a curtain of blue ice. A Sentinel who hadn't been able to protect his Guide, fury, more likely fear, in overdrive. Frowning, Blair searched his memories, and he again heard Jim's voice, _' **If** he's going to be a cop…'_ Gazing down at his unconscious friend, Blair shook his head, wondering how he could have missed the 'if'.

He remembered the night Jim had been furious about not having been informed about the university's expected offer to consider a new dissertation submission. With unconscious insight, Blair knew now he'd hit a vital truth that night. _'Desertion, why is it always about desertion with you?'_

Jim had had a lot of time to think that night, waiting for him to wake up. A lot of time to consider what it meant if a shootout went bad, or if someone with a doctorate decided it was too rough…especially after having just killed for the first time. "You decided it was all too dangerous, too hurtful for me, didn't you? That was the Sentinel. Wanting to protect me. But, you also told yourself I'd leave you anyway, right? Because everyone else always has left you. That was the man. The answer for both was to push me away either before I left because I was dead or I left because I couldn't take it anymore. If you push me away, then it all plays out on your terms, doesn't it Jim? You're not vulnerable then, waiting to see what I might decide to do someday that might tear your world apart. Oh, Jim, my poor, confused friend…how hard you try to do your best, how much it must hurt to feel so alone."

Blair had been musing aloud, following the patterns of his thoughts as they occurred to him, exploring this new insight into the power he had, _had to have_ , in their unique relationship. Not coercive power. Not any kind of hierarchical power. But a vision of balance, where each had their role, dependent upon the other in healthy ways based upon trust and unconditional love. "And that's the core of it, isn't it Jim? The meaning of unconditional love, not as a concept but as a way of being. That's what you don't get, don't trust…don't understand. Well, my brother…you'll understand when I'm finished with you. And you won't ever again have to hurt both of us so terribly in a misguided effort to save us both."

Smiling gently down upon the being he loved most in the world, Blair stroked Jim's forehead with light cool fingers, soothing and comforting the fevered skin, restoring, sharing energy…pouring out his love…and his strength. "You ever heard the saying, 'If you love something, set it free…if it comes back to you, it loves you, too'? I'm back, Jim…and nothing you can do is ever going to drive me away again. How's that for your worst nightmare, man? You did your best and it wasn't enough. You can't get rid of me. For the rest of your life, you, my brother, will be in the 'Sandburg Zone'."

********************

Blair had all of his arguments ready, now all Jim had to do was wake up. But, there was a problem. He didn't seem inclined to wake up. One day passed and then another. His body strengthened and he was able to breathe on his own. But, still he didn't wake up.

Studying him, Blair wondered if his friend had slipped into a zone. So he tried the usual methods, appealing to smell and taste, since touch was muted by pain medication and sight wasn't on-line. And he talked.

Talked until he was hoarse.

But, still Jim didn't wake up.

Blair knew the doctor was concerned. That the apparent rallying of Jim's strength might be a phenomenon often seen before a person crashed…and died. But, somehow, Blair didn't think that was what was happening. He closed his eyes and saw the world as Jim Ellison. He'd driven his Guide away. Trashed their partnership and relationship. Believed that when Blair had stomped out the door that he was gone for good. As the vision of that moment took form in his mind, he felt his heart clench with unendurable pain and he almost cried out. His eyes flew open, wide and alarmed.

"You don't know, not for sure, that I'm back, do you?" he murmured. "And you're so lost right now, you don't know if you even want to try to find your own way back to this world. Dammit, Jim. You hurt yourself worse than anyone else ever could."

Straightening his back, stretching to loosen cramped muscles, Blair paced around the bed, wondering how to contact his Sentinel if Jim wouldn't wake up and talk to him. "If you won't come to me, I need to find a way to go to you," he finally decided. "Like I have a clue about how to do that," he sighed. Gazing back at Ellison's face, he murmured, "Why did Incacha only ever come to you in visions? Why doesn't he ever appear to me?"

"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear," a voice sounded behind him, a voice he recognized, unsurprised that he now also understood the speaker's words. They spoke now heart to heart, soul to soul.

"Yeah, that's what they say," Blair replied with a small smile as he turned. "Incacha, thank you for your patience and for coming to me now," he said with a slight bow of his head.

"I have been waiting for The Guide to fulfill his role," the Shaman's spirit said. "It has taken you a long time, the path winding and uncertain…but you have finally found your way."

"How do I find my way to Jim?" Blair asked.

"Do you know where he is?" Incacha asked.

"Yes, I believe I do," Blair replied.

"The Guide does not follow…the Guide leads. If you know where he is, go to him and lead him back," Incacha directed him…and then disappeared.

Blair shook his head with a wry grin shadowing his lips. "No wonder Jim comes back from conversations with you more confused than he left," he murmured. Sandburg stared into space as he thought about the Shaman's words. Did he know where Jim was? That was easy…where else would he be but the jungle? And, since he knew, he should just go there. Simple. Right? Not.

Or, maybe it was. Maybe the block, the barrier, was simply his belief that he didn't know the way.

Moving back to the bedside, Blair moved the chair so that he could still touch Jim's head lightly, but was out of the way of staff coming to check on his friend or change his dressings. He wasn't sure that the staff would appreciate this, but he didn't much care. The next time the nurse came in on her regular rounds, he told her that he was going to meditate for a while, and that she shouldn't worry if he didn't respond if he was touched or called…he'd come back when it was time.

She looked at him and wondered if he didn't need to sleep more than he needed to meditate. But, she knew meditation was healing. Nodding, she simply smiled in acknowledgment and continued on her rounds.

"Ready for company, Jim?" Blair asked. Then he reached out, buried the tips of his fingers in Jim's hair, closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, ever more deeply, as he pictured the jungle he'd glimpsed that day at the fountain and where he'd lain by a river until Jim had come for him when Blair hadn't been sure if he ever wanted to wake.

********************

When he felt the shift of air, the warm, humid heaviness of the jungle, scented the vegetation and heard the calls of parrots and the rushing of the river, Blair opened his eyes. He wasn't surprised, but was mildly amused, to see that he was once again as naked as he always seemed to be in this particular jungle. Turning his head, he saw Jim sitting with his back against a large tree trunk, his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees…and once again, Jim was dressed in those combat fatigues. Made sense. The guy was _always_ ready to do battle to defend himself and those he cared about.

"Hey," Blair called softly. "What are you doing here? We're waiting for you to come back, man."

Jim didn't respond but turned his head a little away as he drew himself up tighter as if trying to crawl into himself.

"Classic defence posture, man," Blair advised him with a trace of humour as he stood to walk over and sit down again directly in front of his friend, close enough that their feet touched. "It's gotta go, Jim…it's getting in the way."

"I thought you'd left, Sandburg," Jim replied, his voice flat, that cool gaze once again in place.

"Did you really think that, Jim?" Blair asked, tilting his head a little as he studied his friend calmly, even serenely.

Jim stared back for a moment, then looked away, the muscles in his jaw working under the skin. "Yes," he whispered as if his throat was tight.

"And did that make you happy, Jim? You sure worked hard enough to drive me away," Blair asked.

Ellison's eyes dropped to study the jungle floor. There was just the slightest negative jerk of his head in response.

"How bad did it feel, my brother?" Blair asked, his voice dropping to little more than a murmur.

Jim's whole body twitched at the question and he drew in a shuddering breath. "Don't," he groaned, pressing his eyes closed.

"That bad, huh?" Blair murmured, his eyes dark with concern. "As bad as when your mother deserted you? Or when your unit up and died on you, leaving you in the jungle, alone and scared? As bad as when Carolyn walked away?"

Jim's throat worked as he swallowed convulsively, but he didn't speak and he wouldn't look at Sandburg.

"Jim, the rock," Blair mocked gently, smiling into eyes that lifted at that to blaze into his. But the smile faded to a stern look as Blair stated with a hard tone, "This is an old game and not one that's any fun. You have told yourself enough lies. It's time for a different truth."

"What truth?" Jim ground out, fighting the waves of pain that crashed over him, striving with all his being for control.

"The truth that your mother didn't leave you…she left your father. She wasn't a well woman, Jim, you know that. She didn't leave or abandon you. That takes deliberate action, intent. She was not capable of that. You were hurt, only a child, who didn't understand. You are a man now and it's time to see it as a man. It wasn't about love or commitment. It was about being ill and incapable of giving you what you needed, whether she wanted to or not."

Jim looked away, closing his eyes as if he couldn't see Blair or the jungle, he could be somewhere else.

"And your men? They didn't desert you. What? You think they died deliberately, just to spite you, to hurt you? You _know_ that's not true. Again, the choice wasn't theirs or yours. It just was," Blair stated, his voice softening into kindness.

"It hurts…when…" Jim whispered, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

"Yeah, I know," Blair replied, his voice stark. "It hurts like hell to lose people you love, who are part of your soul. So, you decided not to risk being hurt like that again, didn't you? That's why you drove Carolyn away. And me. So it wouldn't have to hurt like that again, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Jim sighed in surrender, seeing no reason to deny what was suddenly so patently obvious, his head coming forward to rest wearily on the arms crossed over his raised knees. Blair reached out to lay a gentle hand on Jim's hair, like a benediction.

"Does it hurt less when you drive us away, than if we left on our own? Does the pain you cause hurt less than the surprise hurts in life? Did it hurt more to lose your men in the jungle than to see me walk out of that door?" Sandburg asked quietly, with infinite compassion.

Jim's shoulders started to shake as he remembered that dark, terrible finality of the door slamming closed. Remembered hearing once again Incacha's solemn warning in his mind, believing he'd ruthlessly and deliberately thrust Blair out of his life for the last, hopeless and irrevocable time. His choice, his words, his own cold actions had brought him to that shattering moment. Oh, God, the agony of that moment and every moment since. Tremors rippled down over his body as he was wracked by silent sobs.

Blair shook his head, wanting to offer comfort but it was not yet time. Jim had to work through this, had to face his choices clearly, both as a man who was vulnerable to being hurt, as any man is, and as a Sentinel with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and a virtually limitless need to protect. "Jim," he asked, "what was the difference between your men leaving you and me leaving you? Why did my leaving you hurt more?"

"It didn't…didn't have to be…" he whispered brokenly. "They didn't have a choice."

"And whose choice was it, when I left?" Blair pressed. "Mine…or yours?"

It was a long time coming and when it did, the sound of Jim's voice was a heart wrenching moan of anguish, _"Mine…"_

"The pain of that will end if you will let me back in," Blair said, keeping his voice steady and calm though he wanted to weep for the pain in his friend's soul. "I'm here…will you let me back in?"

Jim's head flew up, his face contorted with grief, tears streaming down his flushed face, as he stammered, choking over the words, "Wwwant ttto…ccccan't…."

"Why can't you?" Blair pushed relentlessly, not letting him retreat.

"Have ttto ppprottect you…" the Sentinel cried helplessly. "Cccan't…let…you…dddie…" he whispered, his eyes pleading for understanding. Jim's head fell back onto his knees as he curled tightly into himself, wracked by sobs. "Hurts, BBlair…Oh GGGod, it hurts…."

Blair had to take a long shuddering breath of his own, and he sniffed as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. They weren't quite finished yet. There could be no comfort yet. "When you rip my heart from my body, and tear my soul into shreds…how are you protecting me? _You_ , Sentinel, are the one who is causing my pain… _you_ are the one who is destroying me, not saving me," Blair thundered above the sounds of the wretched sobs. _"Tell me, Sentinel…who protects me from **you**?"_

 ** _"NOOOO!!!"_** Ellison screamed out, as his fists clenched and every muscle in his body spasmed with the terrible pain. Whatever he did, whichever way he chose, his Guide was at risk and would be hurt beyond bearing. The Sentinel was caught in the intrinsic paradox, unable to escape, and he was in agony.

"If you don't hurt me, I am safe," Blair told him, his voice steady and strong as he once again laid his hand upon the Sentinel's head. "If you are there for me, I am comforted. If you love me, then I am complete. Will you be there for me, when I need you? Do you love me whatever I do?"

Though the shudders wracking the Sentinel's body eased as he thought about the Guide's words, he remained silent, thoughts whirling in his head, emotions clogging his throat.

When there was no answer, Blair bowed his head and took a breath to steady himself for what he had to say. His voice resonating with grief and sorrow, he proclaimed, "Then, that is your choice. You will not be there for me…you do not love me enough to risk the pain of it…I cannot be your Guide." Blair's eyes were glazed with tears and it was taking all he had to contain his own sob of grief as he shifted away and prepared to rise.

"Chief, please…" Jim begged, lifting his desperate gaze, one hand reaching out in supplication. "I don't know how…"

When Blair's head came back up, his face was stern. "Will you let me in? Will you let me show you the way? Will you follow me, Sentinel? Go where I lead?" he demanded.

For a moment more, Jim faltered. "Where?" he stammered.

"Where I lead…that is all you need to know," Blair replied, giving no quarter. This was it. Jim had to decide he could do this, or they could go no further. "Do you trust me enough, love me enough, to follow me? To let me be your Guide?"

Jim's eyes flickered around the jungle…could he follow, not knowing where they were going? Could he surrender himself that much? Blair felt a wave of compassion at the fear he saw in his friend's eyes, the fear that froze Jim into place, rendering him unable to move. And his thoughts in those moments of clarity came back to him… _'I gave him space when I should have been moving in closer, demanding to be heard. I've kept letting him get lost.'_

Instead of moving away, Blair moved forward until he was kneeling before Jim, his hands on his friend's drawn up knees, covering Jim's own hands that were so tightly clenched in his frozen fear. He was the Guide, it was his job to lead, by small incremental steps if necessary, to lead his Sentinel out of the darkness. "Do you believe that I will lead you into danger?" he asked gently, his eyes filled with compassion. "Do you believe that I love you so little that I would do you deliberate harm?"

His throat too tight to speak, Jim shook his head, his gaze locked onto Blair's like a drowning man, desperate for salvation. "Do you believe me when I say I love you, Jim?" Blair asked, his voice soft, his eyes kind and filled with his boundless love.

"Yes," was the small, whispered response, but Jim's eyes begged Blair that it be true, that the love be constant and unswerving, a love Jim's tattered soul could rely upon and trust eternally.

Blair smiled then as his eyes misted up. "Okay, then you need to let me in. Come on," he encouraged, tugging lightly on Jim's hands to open the fists, pressing on his friend's knees to lower them to the ground, stepping forward so that he straddled Jim's body to press his arms open. Sinking down onto his knees, Blair moved in…going closer, giving no space, no place for Jim to hide. Wrapping his arms around his friend, Blair laid his head on Jim's shoulder. "I'm here, Jim. I love you, my brother. I will always be here for you when you need me. I will not leave you unless you tell me to go. But, if you tell me to go, I will go."

He felt Jim's arms come up to circle him and pull him closer still. Felt Jim pull in a shuddering breath, and then he felt his friend's hot tears fall on the back of his neck. "Tell me to go, Jim…"

"No," Ellison whispered, holding Blair more tightly still. "No."

"Do you trust me, Jim?" Blair murmured.

"Yes…yes, I trust you," Jim replied, taking another shuddering breath.

"Do you trust me with your life?" Blair demanded softly.

"Yes, I do," Jim answered, without hesitation, shaking with the intensity of how very much he meant it.

"Do you trust me with my life? Trust me to make my own decisions, my own choices…and respect those choices even though you might have chosen differently for me?" Blair pushed again, knowing that these were the harder questions. Jim valued his friend's life more than his own.

Again, there was a long pause as the Sentinel struggled. "I love you enough to let you make your own choices," Jim finally murmured. "But…I'm afraid, Blair…I'm afraid you don't value your own life enough."

"But, you will live with the fear, not try to take my choices from me?" Blair asked, but he knew he was going to have to think about what Jim had just said when he had time. Just as Jim had his blind spots, his own patterns of less than functional behaviour, Blair knew he was only human as well, and had blind spots of his own.

"Yes," Jim sighed, finding it very hard to surrender but wanting to, knowing he needed to if he was going to be able to follow the path set out by his Guide.

"Do you trust me enough to follow unconditionally where I lead…even if it seems that it might be into danger?" Blair asked then, as if he had been reading Ellison's thoughts.

Jim's arms tightened around him, and Blair felt the Sentinel take a deep breath, and then another, as he thought about whether he could do that or not.

Finally, Jim's arms relaxed marginally, so that Blair knew he could stand and leave if he chose to do so, yet not quite letting him go. "Yes, I trust you enough to follow you," the Sentinel said soberly. "If there's danger, I will stand with you and protect you."

But, it was not yet quite done. "Do you trust me enough to let me go off alone, knowing I will always come back to you so long as I live?"

The arms tightened spasmodically around him again for a long moment. And, then, Jim's grip on him relaxed as the Sentinel allowed himself to fully accept the surety of his Guide's love and he felt the peace and warmth of that love drive away the last chill of doubt in his soul. Blair Sandburg, his friend, his partner and his Guide, would _never_ forsake him. "Hell, Chief," he muttered then, laughing a little at himself, "I don't seem to be able to get you to leave and stay gone. You always come back…you always will. I know that."

This time, it was Blair's arms that tightened around Jim as he lifted his head and planted a gentle kiss on Jim's brow. "You got that right, man…there ain't no way you're ever gonna get rid of me," he chimed. Leaning back so that he could see into Jim's eyes, Blair murmured, "Welcome back, man. I missed you."

"I'm sorry, Chief…I wanted so much to protect you, and I was so afraid of how much you keep getting hurt because of me. I figured…I _lied_ to myself and told myself you weren't strong enough to keep taking it forever. That you'd go, so better now than later," Jim murmured looking away into the jungle. "Simon told me I was a fool…he was right."

"Partly," Blair agreed. "But mostly, you were just lost, confused and didn't know what to do to make everything right. You keep thinking it's your job to make everything right, to be in control. It's not. If it's anyone's job, it's mine. I'm the Guide…I illuminate the path. Now, you might have to take care of the trouble I get into when we get wherever it is that we're going…but you are never to forget that I was the one who led us there, and the responsibility for that is mine."

Jim swallowed hard as his gaze fell away, still so afraid the protection he offered with all that he was might someday not be enough. What then? What if the path Blair chose threatened his life? What was his Sentinel supposed to do then? Taking a deep breath, Ellison told himself he no longer had a choice. He could not, would not, push Blair away again. He had to love and trust Blair enough to allow him his own choices, more to support those choices, come what may. Ellison's heart ached with the pain of unconditional love, of knowing he could never offer perfect protection to the one who walked ahead, the one who led. He could only love with all that he was and hope it could be enough to shelter his Guide if darkness ever befell them. He could not see what lay ahead, but he knew he loved Blair Sandburg with all his heart, with all his soul. Loved him enough to surrender that last final shred of control, to respect and honour him enough to allow him the responsibility for his choices and to share the risk of those choices with him.

Jim nodded slightly as his eyes came back to Blair's gaze. "I can live with that, Chief. So long as we travel that path together."

"We will, Jim," Blair replied with a blinding smile. "Every step of the way, man." For a moment, Blair paused, an impish gleam in his eyes. Giving his friend a quizzical look, he asked, "Uh, Jim…have you noticed that your clothes have disappeared?"

"Yeah, I noticed, Chief," Ellison drawled with a teasing smile. "But, I figure I'm safe with you…that you won't take advantage of me."

Blair burst into laughter, that bright joyous sound that Jim had been missing so badly, with all the innocence and grace of a child, with all the brightness of life. "You got it, man!" Blair crowed. "You _finally_ got it!" Sobering, his voice suddenly tight, Blair vowed, "You will always be safe with me, Jim Ellison. I will not let you fall. While you serve and protect as the Sentinel of the Great City, I will serve and protect you as your Guide. You have my word."

"Yeah, well, I expect you to help me serve and protect that city, or have you forgotten that you're my partner?" Jim drawled.

"I haven't forgotten…I'll be beside you every step of the way," Blair affirmed again. "Now…if you're ready, it's time to follow me home. But…I gotta warn you, Jim…your body is really wrecked, man, and you'd better turn those pain dials down now. You'll get better…but it's gonna be a rough road for a few weeks."

"Okay, Chief," Jim replied as he and Blair rose to their feet. "I'm ready…lead on, Guide."

********************

Blair came back into the hospital room and could hear the sounds of the machines, spell the astringent scent of disinfectant as he opened his eyes. Jim was still lightly unconscious, but when Blair reached for his friend's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, he felt Jim's grip tighten marginally in response. He was going to be fine.

"Sandburg, are you alright?" Simon asked tentatively from the doorway behind him. He'd come into the room minutes before and had realized that Blair was in some kind of trance.

Looking up and around, Blair smiled at his superior. "Yeah, Simon, I'm fine. And so is, Jim. Like I told you, he's going to be all right."

Simon studied the young man standing before him, so peaceful and confident, and damned if he didn't believe him. The terrible anxiety eased out of Simon's eyes as he turned his gaze down on Jim. "I'm glad, Blair…I'm really, very glad to hear that."

Turning back to Ellison, Blair stroked his friend's face lightly…a reassurance, a benediction. He knew it wouldn't always be easy, that they'd still hit rough spots. They both had a lifetime of behaviours to face down and overcome. But, Jim had let him in. Consciously, willfully had let down the last of his walls, leaving himself fully vulnerable…knowing he was safe.

They were finally on the right path.

********************

Guido sat alone in his office in the darkened warehouse, tapping his fingers on the desk, the only illumination the flickering images of the television screen in the corner. The news that one of the trucks had been overtaken by the police, one of his drivers dead, had sent a thrill of fear along his spine. For the last two days, he'd been monitoring the media trying to discover how much the cops knew.

What had attracted them to that truck? How had they known a hijack was underway? How much else did they know, he wondered, thinking of the loss of the cleaning contract with the same police department? There was nothing in the truck to connect it to his business, including the remains of the driver. If the cops really had anything, they'd have shown up by now.

Biting his lip, he made his decision.

He was a patient man, and a cautious one…it was one of the reasons he had so successfully built a national network that had never been suspected, never threatened. Reaching for the telephone, he began the process of shutting down operations in illegal arms trafficking until further notice.

Once he was finished, he sat back and sighed as he ran a hand over his hair and rubbed the back of his neck to ease his cramped muscles. The good thing about weapons, he thought, was that guns didn't go bad. His inventory would remain valuable, maybe even increase in value if there was a lull in the availability of the product on the streets for a while.

Satisfied that he'd done what he could to ensure his business' security in the long term, he clicked off the television and headed home for the night.

********************

Taking his lead from his Guide, Ellison held himself in a semi-conscious state for three days. The one time he'd tested the boundary and eased up the pain dial despite Blair's guidance, the agony had overwhelmed him. Now, only his hearing was dialed up to a position where he could hear Blair's whispered words, and his sense of touch was just high enough that he could feel Blair's hands. In a remote way, he accepted that he needed this time to allow his body to heal. Though he couldn't remember much about the crash, he did remember the hideous pain that had driven him close to a zone-out just before unconsciousness had claimed him.

During those days, Blair scarcely moved from Jim's side. He closely monitored the medication they were giving his friend to ensure it was enough but not so much as to create any risk with Jim's senses or hypersensitivity to drugs. He dozed in the chair by the bed, his hand always linked to his friend's, so that Jim would know he was not abandoned, and that he could rest because his Guide was also safe and nearby.

"How long are you planning to sit there, Sandburg?" Simon asked as he walked into the room. "You're only human…you need to rest sometime."

Looking up, Blair gave his friend a warm smile. "Soon, Simon…I'm going to wake him up later today, just for a little while, to get his bearings. He's doing really well…blood pressure, heart rate…he's breathing well on his own now, and there's no infection."

"Yeah, I know," Simon replied, drawing up a chair. "But, it's going to be a while before he's ready to come back to work."

"Oh yeah," Blair nodded, but then grinned. "But you get to tell him that. You know how much he hates just lying around and since he doesn't have any broken legs or arms, he's going to want to be kept busy."

Simon grunted softly as he shook his head. "Oh, good…make me the bad guy. Thanks a bunch, Sandburg."

Snickering, Blair was unrepentant as he replied sagely, "Such is the burden of command, Captain."

To pass the time, Simon decided to ask about something he'd been wondering about for several days now. "Blair, you said something the other night about being the Shaman of a Great City. What was that all about?"

"Oh…yeah," Sandburg replied, startled by the question. "Well, you remember when Incacha and some of the tribe came here from Peru a couple of years ago?" When Simon nodded, he continued, "Well, just before he died, Incacha passed on his role as shaman to me, naming me the Shaman of this city." Though Blair had kept his tone matter of fact, his expression had gone somber.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Simon asked, frowning. "I don't know a lot about this shaman stuff, but it seems to me that it involves something about spiritual leadership and guidance of the tribe…the sharing of tribal wisdom. But…tribes are small gatherings of people. How can anyone be the Shaman of a city?"

Blair studied Simon for a moment, struck that this very pragmatic man who was grounded in his modern culture and pretty concrete view of reality was talking about shamanism as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He smiled a bit in appreciation of the open-mindedness and generosity of spirit that that revealed. But, the smile dwindled as Blair replied to the question Simon had posed. "I don't know, Simon. Incacha died before he could tell me what it meant. What I have to do." Shrugging, he looked at Jim and then away as he replied, "I've been reading up on shamanism, to try to understand. But, I haven't gotten very far, and I've let other things distract me. I guess because it scares me."

"I can imagine," Simon replied, then shook his head. "No, actually, I can't. This is way beyond my experience."

"Don't feel bad," Blair replied with the trace of a grin. "It's way beyond my experience, too. But, I can't just ignore it…not forever. Incacha wouldn't have given me the responsibility if there wasn't something I was supposed to do with it."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. "Well," he said after a moment, "I'm sure you'll figure it out. If anyone can make sense of all this weird mumbo jumbo, you can."

"Thanks…I think," Sandburg returned, a twinkle in his eye.

********************

Simon had left some hours before and the hospital had quieted around them as evening drifted towards night. Standing by the side of the bed, Blair leaned forward to stroke Jim's forehead while his other hand gripped Jim's hand firmly. "Hey, Jim," he murmured, "you ready to wake up now?"

He felt the fingers in his hand tremble, then shift to link with his. "That's it, Jim, take it slow, man, keep those dials turned down. But, I want you to wake up…I want you to open your eyes," Blair encouraged. "It's time you knew what your injuries are so that you can understand better what you need to do to get well."

Ellison's throat worked as he swallowed, and his brow furrowed. He moaned softly and his fingers gripped Blair's with more deliberation. "That's it, buddy, come on…wake up," Blair called softly.

Jim's head shifted toward Blair's voice and then he blinked, wincing against the light streaming in from the hallway. "I know, I know…but I couldn't very well ask them to turn off all the lights on this floor, now could I?" Blair said with a trace of humour in his voice, though his eyes were wide and dark with compassion.

Opening his eyes, Jim squinted to find his focus, to distinguish Blair's face against the dimness of the room behind him. "Blair…" he whispered, his throat rough and dry.

"Uh huh, I'm right here," Sandburg replied as he reached for the ice chips he'd requested. "Here, suck on one of these for a minute. It'll ease your throat." Gently, he eased the ice between his friend's lips.

"Okay, now, can you hear me? Understand what I'm saying?" he asked.

When Jim nodded slightly, and squeezed his hand, Blair rewarded him with a blinding smile. "That's great, Jim…you're doing great. All right, all you need to do is listen. I want to tell you what happened to you. You and Megan had been tailing one of the hijacked semis, and you were moving to box it in just before the roadblock. But, the semi went out of control and crashed into your truck, sending you down a steep embankment. It was a pretty spectacular crash man…looked ugly on the news, I can tell you."

Blair felt the fingers tighten around his again, and could read the apology in his friend's eyes for having frightened him. "Yeah, I was pretty scared, I admit it. Don't do that again, okay?"

When Jim rewarded him with the trace of a smile, Blair reached out to stroke his friend's cheek. "I can't do any of this without you, man. I miss you when you're all banged up and unconscious and stuff. I'm glad you're going to be okay."

Again Jim nodded stiffly and squeezed his hand. "Can't…do it without…you…either, Chief," he whispered painfully.

They exchanged a long look that went beyond words, reading one another's heart and soul, understanding the messages written there that words could never fully express. Clearing his throat, blinking hard as he sniffed, Blair chided Jim gently, "Now, don't go all mushy on me…you know I can't handle it. Now, where was I, oh, yeah…the accident. Anyway, it took them an hour to cut you out, and you lost a lot of blood. You'd gotten all scrunched up against the steering wheel and the door…and it didn't help that you were hanging upside down, man." Jim winced at the image and rolled his eyes, effectively conveying that there were some details he didn't need. Smiling gently, Blair continued, "You crushed most of your ribs, and that punctured your lungs. Not good, man. Anyway, your ribs are all back where they should be, your lungs are patched up and the drainage tube was removed this afternoon so you're not bleeding inside anymore. The crash also ruptured one of your kidneys, which has also been repaired, and that's healing nicely, too. They had to take your spleen out…so from here on in, we need to be especially careful that you don't get any infections, 'cause your immune system won't be what it was. But, lots of people live full lives without their spleens, so don't worry about it. The good news is, you didn't break any arms or legs, your spine and pelvis are both fine. You did take a nasty blow on the head, but since you're alert, it looks like that won't be a problem either…which is a tribute to your very hard head."

Again Jim rolled his eyes, but there was a trace of laughter in them, under the pain and the weariness.

"And, that's it. Now you know it all," Blair assured him as he slipped more ice into Ellison's mouth. "In the next day or two, they are going to start working with you to get you to cough to clear your lungs, and they'll give you deep breathing exercises. You need to do them even though they are going to hurt like blazes to make sure you don't get pneumonia. Just keep the pain dial locked down for now. We'll also start getting you out of bed, to sit up for a while every day. In a couple of days, we'll start you walking for short distances to build your strength back up," Blair explained, so that Jim would know what to expect and wouldn't be taken off guard by anything. "I think that's about it…any questions?"

Jim swallowed again, then croaked, "Home?"

"Not for a couple of weeks, Jim, sorry," Blair replied, knowing this would not be welcome news.

Frowning, Jim nodded weakly, accepting the ruling. Then, he looked again at Blair, his gaze moving over his friend's face, as he whispered, "You…need rest."

"Yeah, you're right," Blair agreed, allowing his Sentinel to take care of him. "If you're okay, I'll head home tonight. But, I'll be back in the morning, I promise."

"Go," murmured the Sentinel, more concerned about his Guide than the pain in his own body. "Get some…sleep," Jim insisted, worried about his friend.

"Okay, thanks," Blair murmured back, stroking Jim's forehead. "But, I want you asleep before I go. So, relax, Jim, let the pain drift away…just relax and sleep."

Obligingly, Jim's eyes drifted closed again, soothed by his best friend's touch.

********************

Blair was as good as his word, returning to the hospital the next morning before Ellison had awakened. For the next three days, Sandburg stayed close, assisting in the exercises, coaching Jim on the control of his senses, reassuring and encouraging his friend that he was doing fine. He wanted to make sure Jim didn't push too hard, forcing himself past what his injured body was yet able to take. The doctor was pleased with Ellison's progress, most particularly that there seemed no lingering effects of the head injury, and decided Jim could be moved out of intensive care. After that, at Jim's encouragement, Blair returned to work, calling often and still spending his off duty time with his friend.

Neither Blair nor Jim had referred to the moments they had spent in the jungle. They didn't need to. Jim's acceptance of Blair's guidance throughout his recovery was ample evidence that he'd heard and understood, as was his insistence that Blair return to work, even if the Sentinel couldn't yet be there with him. He was signaling his trust that Blair wouldn't take risks that he couldn't handle while his partner was out of commission. He was also signaling that he was prepared to let Blair out of his sight, knowing his friend would return.

But, Blair needed to address one final matter about that first terrible night, when Jim had been so badly hurt. He'd been only too well aware of the Sentinel's intention to linger in the jungle when Jim's more natural response would have been to fight back to consciousness.

Judging that Jim was strong enough for a difficult conversation, Blair moved the dinner tray out of the room and closed the door so that they wouldn't be disturbed. Jim was sitting in a chair beside the bed, finding that more comfortable than trying to eat in bed. Perching himself on the edge of the bed, Blair said quietly, "Jim, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"What's that, Chief," Ellison asked, quirking a curious brow. He kept his expression bland, but he really hoped they weren't going to dive into the painful subjects Blair had forced him to confront in the jungle. Jim couldn't remember ever having gone through anything quite like that in his life. Not that he regretted it, far from it. He'd felt a kind of peace he'd never known afterward, but that didn't mean he wanted to go there again.

"When you were in the jungle, when I first found you there…you didn't intend to come back, did you?" Blair asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.

Looking away, Jim blew out a long breath. Yep, the jungle…only worse. Blair was asking about the one thing Jim had rather hoped he hadn't realized. Ruefully, he figured he should have known better… Sandburg didn't miss much. But, Jim had learned a few things in the jungle, and one of them was that he shouldn't lie to, or deliberately hide things from, his Guide. His eyes intently studying a stain on the floor, Jim shrugged then admitted, "No, Chief…I didn't intend to come back."

Blair swallowed at that. He didn't have to ask why…he knew. At that point, Jim had felt he'd been abandoned, that he was alone again and so isolated…and he just hadn't wanted to come back to all that. Slipping off the bed, Blair reached out to grip Jim's shoulder, causing his friend to look back up at him. "Don't ever hide like that again. Don't ever give up," Blair told him, friend and Guide united. "Wherever our road leads us, whatever happens, this world needs you in it. There are a great many people who love you, Jim Ellison…your father, Steven, Simon, the others at work, all your friends…me. Don't abandon us, and don't ever feel you are alone. Alright?"

Jim felt his chest constrict with the emotion rising to fill his throat and he had to blink against the burning in his eyes. Lifting one hand to lay it over Blair's on his shoulder, he murmured hoarsely, "Thanks, Chief. Alright…no matter what…I won't do that again."

Blair smiled at him softly. "You're doing great, Jim…I'm proud of you, you know that? None of this has been easy for you, but you've faced your demons. You're a strong and very brave man."

"Maybe," Ellison replied, his eyes flickering away, uncomfortable with the praise. But, then his gaze again sought Blair's wide blue eyes as he said, "But you showed me the way. You never gave up on me." Hesitating for a moment, he continued quietly, "When you walked out that door, Chief, I was afraid I'd blown my last chance. Oh, I was dumb enough to still think I'd done the right thing. But…Incacha told me, when you…when you weren't sure you could trust me again, after…well, he'd told me that if I rejected you again, that I wouldn't get another chance." Pausing, his eyes glittering with moisture, he finished, "Thank you, for giving me one more chance."

Blair smiled down at him as his hand moved to cup the Sentinel's cheek. "I am your Guide and your friend. I need you in my life, Jim Ellison…that chance was as much for me as it was for you. I screwed up, too, you know. Not being the Guide you needed. This time, we both got it right."

Jim found he had to swallow hard before he could speak again. Taking a breath, he said, "I'm a little tired, Chief, could you help me back to bed."

"Sure thing," Blair replied, moving to assist Jim onto his feet, a maneuver he couldn't quite manage yet on his own.

"Just a minute, Sandburg," Jim said as Blair started to shift away. Jim lifted his arms around his friend, embracing Blair tightly as he whispered, "Thank you, my brother…"

It was the first time Jim had used those words, and this time, it was Blair who found his eyes filling as he trembled with emotion. This time, it was Jim who brushed his lips over Blair's forehead and held him close.

********************

By the middle of the second week, Ellison was able to walk the length of the hall outside his room. The intravenous had been removed two days earlier, and though he was no fan of hospital fare, he diligently ate and drank what was put in front of him, knowing he needed the nourishment to build up his strength. All in all, he was a model patient…he had a goal, and that goal was to go home. To achieve that, he had to demonstrate he was ready. Three weeks after he'd been brought in by ambulance, he was ready to go home.

After another week at home, Simon finally relented and agreed to allow him to return to the office on 'light duty'. Not perfect, but at least Jim didn't feel so out of the action. Not that he'd been abandoned and ignored. Given his behaviour before the accident, he was more than amazed and not a little touched that everyone from Major Crimes made a point of visiting regularly, both in the hospital and once he got home. But, even then, he was surprised at the reception he received when he walked back into the Major Crimes Unit. There were balloons and streamers everywhere, and a big sign over his desk, proclaiming, 'Welcome Back, Jim!' and everyone jumped up to add their personal wishes to that message.

But the words he relished most of all were "Welcome back, partner."

********************

**_Chapter Five: So Faith, Hope, Love Abide…_ **

Two weeks later they were all fed up with the lack of action on the hijacking/weapons dealing case. In close contact with their counterparts across the nation, it was only too abundantly clear that the operators had shut the business down tighter than a drum after the last hijacked semi had almost been captured by the police.

Calling the whole team into a meeting in his office, Simon reviewed what they had and formally declared they were stuck. "So, I'm open to suggestions. Anybody have any ideas?"

Most shook their heads dejectedly as they recounted all that they had done to find a crack somewhere. They didn't have enough evidence or probable cause to push for a search warrant to get into those warehouses and take a good look around. Though surveillance had been constant and tight, there'd been nothing to suggest anything but a legitimate cleaning company occupied the premises. There was nothing to link the identity of the man who had burned in the hijacked truck with the company. They'd searched bank records, trying to track the money and had come up with zip. They'd checked police records nationally to see if there was any record of the owner or senior officers of the company having been charged with any prior offenses. Nada…not even a parking ticket.

Stuck wasn't the word for it. It would take a stick of dynamite to get this case moving again.

Blair had been sitting with his head lowered, obviously thinking about something. "Sandburg, you're being conspicuously quiet," Simon observed.

Looking up, Blair replied, "They're careful, but they'll move eventually. When they do, we need to be ready and waiting for them. I think the only thing we can do now is place someone on the inside."

Simon frowned as he thought about that, and then nodded. "I agree. We need someone who could credibly apply for a cleaning job, but who also knows how to drive a semi," he said then, his eyes scanning the members of his team and coming to rest again on Sandburg.

"Told ya these curls would come in handy," Blair quipped.

Jim stiffened and had to forcibly keep himself from protesting. While he was trying to school his emotions and instinctive reactions, Joel put his own objection forward. Frowning, he reflected, "I'm not sure…after the media attention, won't there be a danger someone would recognize you?"

Conscious of Jim's struggle beside him, Blair thought carefully before he answered. "No, I don't think so, Joel. That was months ago, and there was only the one short video that featured me…the others all focused on Jim. My hair was tied back and I was wearing my glasses, so I could wear it loose, and/or wear a cap, and there won't be any paperwork there, so I won't need the specs. I still look young enough to pose as a student looking for work…"

"Chief, I…" Ellison began, then paused as if he was thinking better of what he'd intended to say. Jim wanted so badly to say this was a stupid idea, that it was too dangerous, that they'd find another way. But, he'd promised to let Blair go…to trust Blair to make his own decisions, even if they weren't the ones he'd make, even if there might be danger. _God_ , he thought, _this is so damned hard._

"Go on, Jim," Simon encouraged.

Sighing, Jim continued, "I think you're right that you've got a good chance that they wouldn't recognize you…and, while I'm not sure I'd give you any references as a cleaning specialist, so far as I know at least, you're the only one here who can handle a semi with professional expertise."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said with a smile, his words innocuous…his message profound. Turning to Simon, he chirped, "Looks like I'm your man."

********************

It was late that afternoon when Blair jumped off the bus, and trudged up the industrial parkway, going into each business' administration entrance to apply for a job. He was dressed in jeans and his old jacket, with a baseball cap yanked down over his unbound hair. The day was blustery with gusts of rain, so by the time he arrived at the office entrance of the Proteus Cleaning Company, he was cold, wet and looked very miserable.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, catching the door against another gust of wind and pushing it shut behind him. "What a truly _horrible_ day, man!" he said turning to face the thin, middle-aged fellow behind the counter as he wiped rain from his face and pushed his hair back behind his ears.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, rising from his desk further back in the large open area to approach the counter.

"Oh, man, I sure hope so," Blair exclaimed almost breathlessly as he pulled his pack from his shoulder, rummaging in it to pull out a worse for wear sheet of paper. Handing it toward the stranger, he explained, "I'm looking for a job, and this sorta gives you an idea of what kind of work I've done before."

The older man gave him a skeptical look as he took the paper and scanned it, his brows rising as he took in the extensive list of former occupations. Murmuring to himself as he read, "Clerk, construction worker, back hoe driver, house painter, bee keeper, deck hand, truck driver, farm hand, inventory control, supermarket checker, hospital attendant…"

Looking up, with a quick glance back down at the name on the top of the list, he said, "Mr. uh, Morris, you've certainly had a wide variety of jobs in the past…but, this is a cleaning company."

"Uh, yeah, well, I'm a student, actually, and I take pretty much whatever I can find to help pay the bills, man. At least it shows I can learn different duties," Blair explained, a hopeful look on his face. "Working nights or evenings would be best for me right now, what with classes, and most of those kinds of jobs require work during the day."

"I see," murmured the stranger again, a frown puckering his face as he again looked doubtfully at the sheet in his hand.

"Look, honestly, I learn really fast…and, well, if you think the cleaning would be too complicated, maybe there's warehouse or inventory work…I really need a job, man," Blair offered anxiously. "Those student loans…you wouldn't believe…I'll be old before I dig my way out. And, now, with my Mom so sick…" Blair paused and made a visible effort to pull himself together. "Ah, sorry, man…you don't need to hear my problems…."

"If money is that much a problem, you could make a great deal more as a construction worker or truck driver than as a cleaner," the man replied, his eyes narrowing in speculation.

"Yeah, you're right. But, like I said, with the classes, construction work is pretty much out until next summer. And, truck driving, well, these days with the large firms handling drivers as independent operators, you pretty much need your own rig, man," Blair explained, then looked away with a miserable sigh, "and I sure can't afford my own rig."

For a long moment, the man studied him while Blair stood trying not to shift restlessly, giving the perfect imitation of a student who was desperate for a job, pale, hopeful, more than slightly frazzled around the edges. Nothing like playing a part he knew so well from years of first hand experience, Blair thought as he trained his eyes wide with hope upon the hapless clerk. Finally, the man nodded, "Alright, you're in luck. We had someone quit today unexpectedly and we're short-handed."

Blair's face blossomed into a smile of disbelieving delight. "Oh, man, that is so _great!_ " he enthused. "What do you want me to do…when do I start?"

With a slight smile of indulgence, the man said as he reached under the counter for a form, "My name is Charlie Michaels. Here, fill in this form. You'll be starting tonight." While Blair completed the documentation, Charlie told him where to report at 10:00 that night to begin his new job as a cleaner. Looking Blair over, Charlie said thoughtfully, "I think a medium uniform will do for you. I'll requisition one for you and the senior cleaner at the site will have it for you when you get there. Pay goes right into your bank account."

Nodding as he listened and finished the form simultaneously, Blair looked up with a mixture of gratitude, relief and a fragile vulnerability in his face. "Thanks, man, I mean it. You don't know how desperate it's been…" he said sincerely.

"Yeah, well, do your job and you'll work out fine here," Charlie replied, then added as Blair turned to go, "Uh, kid…sometimes we have other work…in the warehouse when supplies come in. If you want, I can call you for extra duty…because it's sporadic, we pay cash at the end of the shift."

"Great, yeah, anytime," Blair replied, then stuck out his hand to shake Charlie's, as he again uttered a heartfelt, "Thanks."

"No problem, kid, see you around," Charlie replied, turning back to his desk, Blair's application in his hand.

********************

Jim looked up from the kitchen where he was chopping vegetables for a stew as Blair blew into the loft. "Hey, Chief, how'd the job hunt go?"

"Just call me Mr. Clean, man," Blair replied with a grin as he peeled off his soaked jacket and hung it on a hook, dangling the cap on top of it. "I start tonight."

"Start what, exactly?" Jim replied as he dumped a double handful of chopped carrots, potatoes and turnip into a pot where he'd already been searing chunks of beef.

Blair made a face, as he replied, "Cleaning, unfortunately…I was hoping to get something in the warehouse, but no such luck, not right away anyway. My new friend, Charlie, says sometimes there's sporadic work that pays cash at the end of the shift and he'll call me if any comes up."

"'New friend', huh. Don't get carried away, Chief. And, look at it this way, Sandburg, the next time it's your turn to clean the loft, you'll bring a professional's touch," Jim teased, trying to keep it light, trying to curb his anxiety.

"Yeah, I might finally meet your standards, Jim," Blair snickered as he pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator.

 _"Finally,"_ Jim joked as he took the bottle Blair held out to him and screwed off the cap.

Rolling his eyes, Blair gave his partner a look of appraisal as he asked, "How're you doing?"

"Oh, still stiff and the ribs are tender…I won't be able to lift anything heavy for a while yet," Jim replied, his gaze shifting away.

"Uh huh," Blair replied, taking in the slight tremble in Ellison's hands. "It's okay to say you're not happy with all of this, Jim…letting me do my job doesn't mean you always have to be joyful about it."

Ellison looked down at the counter for a moment, then nodded. Looking back up into Blair's steady gaze, he admitted, "I'm _not_ happy about it, Chief. Scares the hell out of me, if you want the truth, to think about what you might be getting into, with no back up, no wire…."

"I know," Blair replied with a sigh of his own, wishing this could be easier on his friend, but it went against every instinct Jim had, whether as a man, a friend, a partner or a Sentinel. It challenged his need to control and protect, the two most powerful drives he had. "I'll be careful, I promise. I won't take any stupid chances, and I'll make sure you know where I am and what I'm doing."

Biting his lip, his tight jaw clenching, Jim nodded tightly. "Okay…okay, Chief," he muttered.

But, he still didn't like it, not one bit.

********************

The active surveillance of the warehouses had been terminated as soon as Blair signed on with the cleaning company. If it had been noted by those being watched, which was more than likely, then the discontinuance would give a sense of reassurance that the police had given up, their attention moving on to other matters.

Blair dutifully went off to work each night as a member of the cleaning crew in a large office complex downtown. He took every opportunity he had to talk about how bad his debts were, how sick his mother was, how he just didn't know how he was ever going to meet his obligations…he was going to have to quit school, find a second job, his mother's treatments and medication were so expensive and she might need to have surgery, he was 'desperate, man, really desperate'. His supervisor listened and nodded, mumbled words of sympathy and reported back to Charlie.

It was easy work, if tedious, and he was learning more about industrial strength cleaners than he'd ever wanted to know. "Man, Jim, that stuff is pure, unadulterated _poison_. It'll burn the skin right off your hands, and the fumes, whew! Potent, man…would knock _you_ out," he bitched one night. "And, it's so pathetically unnecessary! There are plenty of natural substances that would do as good a job, maybe even better, and not pollute the environment…"

"Yeah, but they cost more, Chief, and business is business," Jim replied philosophically.

"The _world_ is our business, man…won't be much of a profit to be had if none us can breathe or drink the water," Blair groused, pushing his hair back behind his ears, as intense about environmental issues as he'd ever been.

"If they issue you a gas mask, Sandburg, let me know," Ellison replied. "Until then," he shrugged, "I think we'll all survive."

" _Oh, man_ ," Blair moaned theatrically. "More than _four_ years listening to every thing I've been telling you, and you can _still_ say that?"

"Listening, Chief?" Jim replied with a look of surprise. "Was I supposed to be listening?"

Blair threw a pillow at him and snickered. "If you weren't, you'd better start, man," he said with laughter in his eyes.

"Already have, Chief," Jim replied before he shot the pillow back across the living room at his friend, but beneath the banter that comment was made with perfect seriousness.

********************

Guido was cautious. He waited nine days before he believed the cops had finally given up their interest in his affairs. But, finally, he decided that his secondary, and far more lucrative business, could be resumed.

Blair got the call from Charlie about an hour before he was due to head out to the office complex advising him that there was work the next night, a scheduled night off, if he was interested.

"Oh, yeah, for sure," Blair replied eagerly. "Where and when?"

"Back at the warehouse," Charlie advised him. "We've got to load supplies for a delivery to Olympia. Be here by 8:00 tomorrow night. Just one thing, kid, this is a competitive business and we don't like our competitors knowing what we're up to. So, we expect our employees in the warehouse to be…discreet."

"No problem, man, my lips are sealed," Blair agreed with a 'thumbs up' to Jim who was listening intently. "Thanks, Charlie."

As he hung up the phone, Blair turned with a satisfied smile. " _Finally_ …I get to see what's inside that warehouse!"

Nodding, Jim looked away and sighed, "Yeah." But then he rallied, looking back at Blair with a woebegone look. "Does this mean your days learning to clean properly are over, Chief?"

"I hope so, man," Blair snickered. "I _truly_ hope so."

********************

The next day, Simon met with Blair and Jim to go over how they'd play it out. "We can't be anywhere in the neighbourhood, Sandburg, or they'll spot us."

"I know, Simon…it'll probably go down like silk. They think I'm an impoverished student who doesn't care what work he picks up so long as he can pay his bills. I'll help load the truck and report in once I'm clear," Blair replied. "Who knows, I might actually be loading carpet cleaners and barrels of cleaning fluid."

"Maybe," Jim allowed, "but a warning to be discreet seems a little over the top for something as simple as that."

"I agree," Simon replied. "This is likely the break we've been waiting for." Pondering the scenario, Simon stroked his chin. "I think you should go in armed, just in case."

Blair thought about that. No back up, no wire…probably wasn't a bad idea. "Looks like I'll finally get some use out of that ankle holster you guys gave me," he replied, aware that Jim relaxed marginally when he agreed to Simon's suggestion.

But, Ellison still wasn't happy about it. "I don't like the fact that I can't be close enough to listen in…" he said, still mulling over the lack of cover but Blair cut him off.

 _"Close enough?"_ Sandburg exclaimed, shaking his head. "Jim, you're not even cleared for full duty yet… not only do I _not_ expect to see you anywhere in the neighbourhood, but I _do_ expect you will be resting at home. If you push too hard, too soon, man, you could really hurt yourself and you know it!"

When Jim blew out an exasperated sigh, Blair just grinned at him. A confrontation at the warehouse wasn't likely, in Blair's estimation. His job was to get the information they needed to justify a search warrant. In and out, simple. But, if something did go wrong, a gun would help him dissuade anyone from following him too close if he had to run for it. A couple warning shots to make sure they backed off, and he'd be out of there.

********************

Watching Blair fasten the holster around his ankle after dinner that evening, Jim swallowed against the butterflies in his stomach as he said quietly, "Be careful tonight, Sandburg. No heroics."

Looking up with a reassuring smile, Blair replied, "I'll be careful, Jim. You're the hero on this team, not me."

Thinking he could argue that but now was not the time, Ellison nodded tightly. "I'll wait up for you."

"That's not necessary, Jim. I have no idea how long this will take…could go all night," Blair protested, but when Ellison just leveled a flat stare at him, he raised his hands in surrender as he moved to grab his jacket and pull it on. "Okay, man, thanks. I'll see you later."

"Good luck," Jim said as he went to the door, closing it slowly after Blair headed down the stairwell with a bright reassuring grin and a wave back at him. He stood there for a long time, thinking how much he hated this, what a bad feeling he had. Though he still wasn't cleared for 'active duty', he'd be there regardless if it wouldn't have increased the danger rather than lessened it for Blair. He would have felt a lot better if he could have been close enough to listen in, but the warehouses were in an open, flat area, with no cover. There just wasn't anyway to get close enough without attracting attention. Taking a deep breath, he moved back to the sofa and plopped down on it, clicking the remote as he stared sightlessly at the images flickering on the screen.

It took everything he had to just sit there and wait.

********************

When Blair arrived, he discovered he was one of three guys called in to help with the loading of the big semi that had pulled up in the back. Charlie met him at the door and walked back through the darkened warehouse with him, to introduce him to Kyle and Nate. The other two looked like tough customers, if a little ragged around the edges. But, then, looking closer, Blair decided they weren't so tough as just plain ragged and somehow desperate. Picking up the faint trembles and perpetual sniffing, Blair deduced that these guys needed work to pay for their habits. Feeling a pang of sadness, reflecting on his own cover story as a student in need of money, he thought with compassion, _Now, that's **real** desperation._

The other two were old hands, and were already busy shifting heavy crates to the loading dock and from there onto the truck. As Blair approached the long, high stacks of coffin like crates with the peculiar black coding designating weapon descriptions, he observed blandly to Charlie, who would be working with him, "Funny looking crates for cleaning supplies."

Cutting him a sharp look, the older man asked, "Does it matter?"

"No, Charlie, absolutely not," Blair replied with a shrug. "Crates are crates, man."

They'd been working for a little more than an hour when the driver showed up to check on the progress. He wanted to be off by midnight so that he could finish the run well before dawn.

"Hey, Pete," Charlie called out when the tall, muscular young man ambled through the large open entrance leading in from the loading dock.

"Charlie," Pete acknowledged with a nod. "How much longer do you think this'll take?"

Blair, who's back was turned as he moved toward another crate froze at the sound of the voice, as Charlie replied to the boss' nephew, "Another couple of hours anyway, maybe more, I'd guess."

Swallowing, Sandburg considered his options. His eyes darting around the warehouse and the stacks of crates, he realized he might be able to hide, if only briefly, but the others were between him and the only exits, except for the entrance to the administration offices which Charlie had locked behind them when they'd come into the warehouse. Stooping forward, as if to lift the crate, he reached for his weapon and drew it out. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and turned around. Holding the gun out, he said quietly, "Hello, Mallory. Fancy meeting you here."

"What the hell!" Charlie exclaimed as he turned and saw the gun in Blair's hand.

Peter Mallory blew out a snort of disgust. "Sandburg," he sighed, raising his hands slightly. Flicking a contemptuous look at the older man, he said scathingly, "Good work, Charlie…you hired a cop."

" _A cop?_ " Charlie groaned, lifting his own hands. "Dammit it all to hell."

Blithely unsuspecting of any problem, Kyle and Nate sauntered back in from the dock, only to look around with confusion when they spotted the other two with their hands in the air and then with shocked alarm when they saw the gun in Blair's hand. They'd come to load crates, not to get stuck in the middle of a shoot-out.

"Easy, everyone just take it easy," Blair said calmly. "This doesn't have to get messy. For the record, I'm Detective Blair Sandburg of the Cascade PD and you are all under arrest. If you'll just keep your hands up, we'll head back to the offices and I can make a call."

Mallory laughed at that. "You're a fool if you think we'll just fall into line like sheep. There're more of us than you…"

"Yeah, but I've got the gun and your friends don't look like they'd appreciate getting shot," Blair replied, waving his gun a little to indicate they were to move into the warehouse and head around him back toward the offices beyond.

He didn't hear the soft snick of the door's lock disengaging. His back to it while he kept a wary eye on the others, he didn't see it swing open or Guido and another man emerge, both holding revolvers in their hands.

"You're not the only one with a gun, kid," Guido interjected with a low growl. He didn't know what was going on, only having heard the last exchange. For a moment, he wondered if another 'entrepreneur' was trying to rip him off.

Blair stiffened and flicked a quick look back over his shoulder. 'Oh, man, this is so not good,' he thought to himself, wondering at the propensity of the cosmos to ensure that if anything could go wrong, it would.

"He's a cop, Uncle Guido," Mallory supplied with a feral grin as he lowered his arms. "His name is Blair Sandburg…I met him at the Academy last spring."

Emotions raced over Guido's face, shock, disbelief, anger then resignation. "Drop your gun," he said. "Or I promise I will shoot you where you stand."

Blair closed his eyes for a brief moment, then relaxed his stance, stooping to drop his weapon gently on the ground and kicking it away, back toward the crates rather than toward the men who now surrounded him. Licking his lips, he turned to face the older, stocky man with a calm he wished he could feel. "Look, so far all we've got is illegal possession of arms. You don't want to make this worse than it has to be."

Ignoring him, Guido called out, "Charlie, check outside and make sure this kid doesn't have any friends hanging around. Nate, Kyle, go with Pete…take him back to my office and wait for me."

"My pleasure," Mallory growled, a predatory look in his eyes, as he advanced on Blair and backhanded him viciously across the face, causing the smaller man to stagger in an effort to retain his balance. Reaching up to dab at his split lip, Blair murmured, "Really good to see you again, too."

Mallory grabbed him roughly and shoved him forward, back past Guido and the other man, out of the warehouse. When they reached Guido's office, Mallory grabbed Sandburg by the arm, intent upon pulling him around, his right hand already fisted and drawn back for a punch.

But, Blair couldn't see why he should have to stand still and have the stuffing beat out of him. Moving with the pull on his arm, he whirled around and low, punching up with all his strength into Mallory's gut, winding the bigger man and driving him back. Shaking out his fist, Blair said, "Your uncle didn't say anything about beating me up."

Snarling in fury, Mallory roared at the two young men who'd followed them into the office, "Get him!" and then they all charged. Blair backed up to get the space to maneuver, kicking out and blocking punches, giving better than he got, but he knew he was only filling time, delaying the inevitable. When his back hit the wall, and he had nowhere else to go, they finally overpowered him. Nate and Kyle grabbed his arms to pin him tightly, while Mallory finally satisfied his long delayed desire to teach Sandburg a lesson he wouldn't forget.

It took a while, longer than Blair liked, for the fierce, angry, former cadet to beat him into senselessness, but finally the darkness rescued him.

Growling in satisfaction as he glared down at the crumpled body of the man he despised, giving Blair a couple of solid kicks for good measure, Mallory snapped, "That should hold him for a while. Kyle, you watch him. Nate…come with me to finish loading the truck."

After the other two had left, Kyle stood looking down at the body of the cop, shaking his head and wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into a mess like this. God, he'd kill for some stuff to settle his nerves but it didn't look like he'd be getting out of here for a while.

Back in the warehouse, Guido, Charlie and Guido's partner, Jules, were discussing damage control.

"We don't have any choice, Guido, we have to waste him," Julie stated, his voice cold as he stated the facts.

Casting his partner a dark look, Guido blew out a long breath as he looked away. So many years with no trouble. Then first a truck blows up and now this. A cop. Nodding reluctantly, he couldn't see any other option because there was no way he was going to prison at this stage of his life. "We'll finish up here, kill him and load him into the back of the truck. You and I can follow Pete outta town, and we'll dump the body somewhere nobody will ever find it. If the cops come sniffing around, we don't know what happened. The kid finished loading the cleaning supplies and left. Agreed?"

Charlie swallowed hard. It was one thing to participate in an illegal arms business; it was another to see a man killed with one of those guns. He'd never done anything like this before and he felt more than a little sick. But he nodded, as did Julie.

When Nate and Pete Mallory returned with the news that the cop wouldn't be bothering them for a while, Guido gave Pete a hard look, but then just sent Nate to get back to work with Charlie, loading the crates.

"So, what's the plan?" Mallory demanded of his uncle.

"What do you think the plan is?" Guido snapped back, feeling angry and hounded. "We'll have to kill him and dump his body."

Smiling coldly, Mallory offered, "Can I do him? I really hate that guy."

Guido looked up at his tall, vicious nephew, a look of strained forbearance on his face. _This kid is no damned good_ , he thought. _I've told my sister that he's an animal…look at him. So eager to kill another man…so damned eager to sell his soul to the devil._ Sighing, he just nodded wearily and turned away.

********************

Jim had given up on pretending to watch the television and had simply been staring at the clock for the past hour. _How the hell long does it take to load a truck?_ he thought with frustration as the minutes ticked toward midnight. Pacing restlessly, he tried to contain his anxiety, knowing Sandburg would be beyond disappointed if he charged in to the rescue and ruined all the work the kid had put into this case.

But, his skin crawled and his chest was tight, his throat dry as dust and he felt a desire to punch something, anything. Blowing out a long breath, he paused and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to calm down.

But, his head snapped up, his heart hammering, when he heard the lonely long howl of a wolf.

"Sandburg!" he blew out with a breath of all pervasive fear. "Oh God…"

Turning to the phone, he punched in Simon's number and when his boss finally answered, he snapped, "Sandburg's in trouble. I'm heading over there."

"Jim, just hold it a minute," Simon snapped, looking at the clock on his own wall. "It's early yet. Did he call or what?"

"No, Simon, and I don't have time to explain," Jim replied, his voice tight. "I heard the wolf, Simon. I have to go."

Slamming down the phone, Jim grabbed his coat and hit the stairs running.

********************

Blair heard someone groaning and it took him a minute to realize who it was. Sucking in a breath against the searing pain in his chest and side, and the relentless pounding in his head, he blinked, trying to remember what had happened. Focusing on the strange office, then upon Kyle hovering between him and the door, he groaned again as the memories crashed in. 'Busted,' he thought.

Realizing his prisoner was beginning to wake up, Kyle shifted in anxious indecision. Should he go for help? Yell for somebody to come? What was he supposed to do?

The nervous youth was just shifting toward the door, when Blair mumbled, "It's okay, I won't hurt you," then giggled at himself for the absurdity of it all. Squinting up at Kyle as he slowly levered himself to sit with his back against the wall, one arm braced around his aching ribs, he continued, "Turned into a real mess, didn't it, Kyle?"

Jumpy as a deer, Kyle nodded jerkily. "You can say that again, man," he replied, a tinge of a whine in his voice, his eyes dark with confusion and fear.

"Relax, Kyle," Blair grunted and he winced again against the flare of agony that radiated to his back. "Nobody's going to hurt you. Just relax okay?"

But, Kyle just blew out a long breath, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Watching him, Blair decided he had to try. This might be his only chance. Taking his time, pushing himself up to lean against the wall, he kept talking slowly and calmly all the while he was moving. "Look, man, I know you didn't bargain on any of this. You were here to load cleaning supplies, right? You don't want to get mixed up in murder."

"Murder, man?" the kid's eyes widened in horror. "Who said anything about murder?"

"You don't think they'll just let me go, do you?" Blair replied, his tone reasonable, soothing.

"Oh, man," Kyle whimpered, then bit his lip, trying to keep himself together. He needed a fix and he needed it badly.

"Look, it might not be too late," Blair offered hope. "It's just you and me here, right? There's nobody to stop us from just walking out of here, man. So…what do you say? Should we make a run for it?"

Looking from Blair to the door, trembling in his fear and need, Kyle was confused, feeling trapped and desperate. Blair stayed by the wall, his hands up in a gesture of surrender, no threat, not pushing. But, he whispered softly, "Come on, Kyle…you don't want to kill me. I'm a cop…you could never run far enough or fast enough to get away. Besides, you're not a killer, are you? You don't want to be part of this."

Taking one step back and then another, Kyle poked his head around the door to see if the coast was clear. The others were all still in the warehouse, the office area dark but for the light that splashed in from the streetlights on the broad roadway. Taking a shuddering breath, he nodded as he waved a hand toward Blair, his eyes still locked on the warehouse door. "Come on…hurry," the scared youth appealed, just wanting so much to escape.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Blair moved across the office, fighting the dizziness and the urge to throw up. Together, they moved silently across the wide-open office area toward the exit.

And they almost made it.

"Hold it!" Mallory shouted, the door banging against the wall with a crash as he charged through it. "Kyle, you dumb ass, what do you think you're doing?"

Blair threw a quick look back, intending to try to run for it, but the gun in Mallory's fist told him it would be useless. Putting out an arm to block Kyle from moving any further, the youth's body between him and Mallory, Blair turned as he said, "Don't hurt him, he's just a scared kid…"

"Yeah, well, he's gonna be a dead kid if he isn't careful," Mallory growled as he waved the gun toward the door. "Come on, it's time we were leaving."

Blair moved gingerly to place himself between Kyle and Mallory, his hands again in the air as he said, "All right, we're coming…just stay cool, Mallory. Nobody has to get hurt here."

Mallory laughed maliciously at that as the others preceded him through the door back into the warehouse. But then, cocky, too confident, excited to know he was going to kill this pig in a matter of moments, Mallory made a mistake. Shoving Kyle out of his way, he moved in too close, his hand on Sandburg's shoulder as he whispered with unholy relish, " _Somebody's_ gonna get hurt, Sandburg…"

He never got to finish whatever else he was going to say. Blair jabbed a hard elbow back into his solar plexus, winding him, and then dove away behind the stacks. Dragging Kyle with him, he scrambled to find the gun he'd kicked there earlier.

Howling in rage, Mallory snapped off a shot just as Blair pushed Kyle down and away. Rolling to grab his gun, Sandburg came back up to his knees as, still off balance, he whipped off a shot to wing Mallory. The larger man howled as the bullet seared through his upper arm, but fury kept him on his feet and he turned back, his gun up.

Blair pushed Kyle further along behind the crates, giving them some protection. The others had been thrown into confusion by his sudden resistance and the sharp explosion of the guns. Having finished loading the truck, they were all bunched about fifteen feet from the opening onto the dock…and Blair could see there was a clear path to the door.

Calling out, Blair said as he leveled his gun at them all, "Drop your weapons! Kyle and I are getting out of here…anybody else want to surrender and come with me, fine. The rest of you, just stay where you are." Thanking fortune for having given him a break at last, putting all of the bad guys in a line where he could keep them covered, he urged Kyle toward the doorway. Warily, he noted Guido and the other guy had let their guns fall away, but he and Mallory were still in a Mexican stand off.

********************

Jim kept his siren blaring as he raced across town, only shutting it down when he got close to the warehouse knowing that it would be a giveaway that the cavalry was on its way, and, alone, he might need all the advantage surprise could give him. Turning off the headlights, he ghosted down the long avenue, drawing up in front of the dark warehouse. Slipping out of the truck, he tilted his head to listen, searching for the sound of his partner's voice…his heartbeat.

Trembling when he heard Sandburg offer them a chance to surrender, he loped around the corner of the warehouse, taking care to stay in the shadow of the long warehouse owned by the Proteus Cleaning Company. If his partner's heart hadn't been pounding so hard and fast, he would have thought Sandburg had everything under control.

He was still moving along the endless wall when he heard another voice call out, taunting, vicious. "You can't get away…I'll kill the kid."

Blair wondered if Mallory was bluffing to rattle him or if the guy was really that rotten. All he knew was he couldn't take the chance. He needed to buy enough time for Kyle to get away. He needed to keep Mallory focused on him, not the kid. Shifting to cover Kyle with his body while shoving the kid out of the large doorway, he kept his gun leveled at Mallory who was shifting further to the side, drawing Blair's gaze slightly away from the other men. Blair called, "Don't do it, man…just back off."

But, then, Guido, shouted out, "Drop your gun."

Too many to watch at once, with a sinking feeling Blair realized that Guido had stooped to grab up his gun and was now leveling it at him. But, the good news was, Kyle was away, stumbling into the night.

In the space of a heartbeat, Blair evaluated his options. He could run and be shot in the back. He could fire, but he wouldn't likely get both of them, not with them each holding their weapons ready to shoot him. The civilian who'd tried to help him was gone, but there were other innocents still here who hadn't bargained on anything like murder and sure didn't deserve to die…Charlie, Nate, maybe even Guido and his nameless friend. For all that Guido was still holding a gun on him, Mallory was the real threat here, Blair knew that as his eyes lifted to those of the man who wanted to kill him so badly. For one heartbreaking moment, Blair thought of Jim, of what it would do to his friend if he died here tonight. If he killed Mallory, he might yet survive. But…closing his eyes against the hideous grief he felt, his shoulders sagged. _What a hell of a time to realize I just **can't** do it_ , Sandburg thought as he raised his hands and straightened, shifting his stance to face them fully, his gun still held loosely in his hand, accepting the truth of his soul.

He wouldn't, _couldn't_ , kill…not when his life was the only one in the balance.

He would _not_ take a life, only to save his own.

But, he hoped with all his soul that Jim wouldn't hate him for all eternity for the choice he'd just made.

********************

Jim was tearing down the last few feet, slowing only to take a quick look around the corner into the warehouse to assess the situation before he moved to Sandburg's rescue. Close enough to hear words that chilled his soul, close enough to see what was going on once he reached the splash of light from the loading dock that spilled into the darkness beyond, just a few more paces ahead. Close enough to fire, if there had been but a single moment's more time.

But not close enough.

"What, that's it, you're just going to give up?" Mallory taunted, stalking forward, his gun raised and trained on Blair.

"I won't kill you," Blair said, his voice steady, but then a pleading tone came into it as he begged, but not for himself, "Don't do this, Mallory. I'm not worth the cost to your soul."

"My _soul_ , Sandburg?" Mallory crowed as he pulled the trigger. "I could give a _shit_ for my soul."

As if in slow motion, Blair felt the bullets hit his body with the force of massive, concussive hammers, driving him back off his feet even as he heard the sharp, percussive explosions of the gun echoing throughout the warehouse. Shock and breathlessness, a glare of light and the thud of his body hitting the concrete. Eruptions of pain, searing agony merging into an all-consuming fire that savaged him. Hot, metallic, liquid spurting into his throat, choking him, gasping for breath. Splotches of darkness reaching for him, spangles of brilliant blinding light offering him peace.

 ** _"NOOOOOO!!!"_** the Sentinel screamed in a rising wail of desperate, terrible denial as the sound of gunfire filled the air and Blair's body blew backwards from the force of the bullets tearing into his body.

In the distance, Blair heard the wretched, anguished howl of a lost soul splitting the night, filling the air as a shadow passed overhead to linger protectively between him and the light-spangled darkness, keeping him safe. More shots, and the hoarse shouts of that beloved voice, sounding harsh with anger and terror. _Jim_ , Blair thought, feeling immense relief wash over him. He wasn't alone, wouldn't die here alone. Jim had come, was protecting him. But, the surge of relief gave way to sorrow and grief as he again felt himself begin to drift. _No, can't_ , he sobbed in the silence of his mind as he pushed back at the darkness as if it were a physical shroud, rejecting the light that offered respite from all the pain, _can't let go_ … That had been the frenzied scream of his lost Sentinel…he needed to help…needed to guide… couldn't leave… not yet….

Ellison had no memory of how he leapt onto the loading dock like an avenging God winging in out of the night, or of firing and killing Peter Mallory. No memory of moving to stand over Blair's body, between his best friend and the others who might still threaten him. No memory of snapping off a shot that winged Guido who'd hesitated too long to shoot first, causing him to cry out and drop his gun. No memory of screaming at them to get on the floor, on their faces, or of quickly cuffing them together in a tight circle around a pillar so that they couldn't go anywhere…nor of promising to kill them if they moved even as he backed away from them. No memory of kicking their weapons away or of pulling out his cell phone and punching in 911, yelling that an officer was down and giving them the address.

No memory but one that scrolled over and over in his mind. The memory of what he'd seen when he'd finally reached the end of the long warehouse wall, pausing for just a breath of time to check quickly around the corner for a rapid, necessary assessment of the situation before he moved in to protect his friend. One rapid, less than a second, pause…an eternity of time.

_Blair, standing so vulnerable and alone on the dock in the garish lights that bathed him with a bright, sharp, luminescence. His friend, flying backward through the air as the bullets crashed into him, blasting through skin and muscle and bone. His partner's blood, splattering in the light. His Guide, lying crumpled, so still, on the cold, filthy concrete flooring of the dock._

_No memory but of his heart splintering into a thousand pieces and his soul shrieking out in horror._

"If you so much as twitch, I _swear_ I will kill you," Ellison snarled with vicious promise.

Jim took a final step back and knelt by his friend in one smooth, hurried motion, his eyes rapidly scanning the damage, his hearing locked on Blair's heartbeat, thundering so fast, trying to push blood that wasn't there through the stricken body. The blood the heart sought so desperately was pulsing out at a terrifying rate, soaking Blair's shirt and jacket, pouring onto the floor beneath him, a river flowing into an ever-widening crimson lake. Dimly, Jim was aware of sirens somewhere far away but drawing closer.

Too far away, not coming fast enough, not _nearly_ fast enough.

"Oh God, Sandburg," he groaned with sick, helpless despair. His eyes lifted to his friend's face even as he shoved his gun in his belt and pressed his hands down on Blair's chest in a futile effort to try to hold the blood inside. He felt its sticky warmth slide past his fingers, staining his hands with Blair's life.

Sandburg's blue eyes were wide open, the pupils already dilating. His face was starkly white under the mottling of the bruises from the earlier beating and creased with the pain that flamed up to overwhelm him with every shattering shallow breath, scarlet bubbles of blood breaking on his bluish lips with each puff of air. "Jim?" he whispered, his voice a mere wisp of sound as his hand fumbled, wanting to touch his friend, his Sentinel.

"I'm here, Chief," Ellison called back, his voice clogged with fear. "Hold on, Sandburg…God, _hold on_."

"Sorry…Jim…couldn't…" Blair panted, feeling as if he was drowning again and fighting the panic as he tried to draw in enough air while he strained to focus on his friend's face. Weakly, exerting all the strength he had left, he lifted a heavy arm, reaching to rest his hand upon Jim's cheek, fumbling to brush away the tears that slipped down his best friend's face. "Sorry…"

"Don't talk, Sandburg," Ellison ordered, looking up and around, growling under his breath, _"Where's the damned ambulance!"_

"Jim…no time…" Blair breathed again, resisting the darkness that swirled around him, feeling a sense of urgency build within him. He coughed weakly and the scarlet bubbles erupted into a stream of hot liquid that filled his throat, letting him know he was running out of time. Searing agony was pulsing through him and though he tried to bite it back, a low moan escaped him.

"Oh God," Ellison whispered, hearing the agony beneath the weak, unwilling moan; his own heart clenched at the sight of the spasm of unendurable pain that ghosted across Sandburg's face.

"Just…hold me, man," Blair gasped, his trembling hand now cupped weakly against Jim's tearstained cheek, his other hand fisted in his best friend's jacket, trying so hard to hold on, to not let it all slip away. Needing to give comfort, feeling so cold, aching to be held and protected by his Sentinel, needing the touch, the strength of his Sentinel to hold himself here, to keep himself from slipping away.

Terrified by the bubbling sound of each painful wheezing breath, Jim gathered Blair gently into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest, his friend's neck and head supported by his arm and shoulder. "Please…don't do this…" he pleaded, though whether to Blair or to the Almighty, he didn't know.

Jim was devastated by the knowledge that his friend was dying and he could do nothing…his Guide needed him but he'd been too late to protect him and he hadn't the power to save him now. Blair felt so small in his arms, so fragile. He was in so much pain…so hurt, so desperately hurt. Jim felt fury and fear…and so helpless, so miserably helpless as he clutched Blair close and stared down into his best friend's face, into those bright, vital eyes that held his own. Unaware of the tears on his cheeks or the shudders that wracked his own body, Jim held on for dear life.

"'S'okay," Blair murmured, feeling as if he was drifting but unwilling to rest yet, knowing only that he was safe and secure in Jim's embrace. Each gasp now a strangled sob of sound, he kept trying desperately, while he still could, to guide his Sentinel, to give some measure of peace to his friend. "'M okay…you're good…Jim…I'll be…close…promise…"

"Blair, don't…" Jim cut in, his voice breaking as he panted in desperation, overwhelmed by that thumping heartbeat, by the rich, cloying smell of blood that surrounded him. He couldn't lose it, couldn't lose himself in a zone, not now, not when Blair needed him, needed whatever meager help he could give. Oh, God, he'd give anything…anything….

"Promise me," Blair choked out, his tear glazed eyes filled with infinite love, pouring out all the compassion and regret in his soul as he struggled to form the words. "Won't…hide…"

"Not now, Chief…just breathe…" Ellison commanded, feeling panic clutch at his gut as he felt Blair tremble in his arms and read the message in those too bright eyes, a message he couldn't bear.

" _Now_ …Sent'nel…" Blair breathed, struggling to keep his eyes open, though he could barely see through the glare of the brilliant light that almost surrounded him, blotting out everything but Jim's eyes, and to hold his icy, shaking hand to Jim's face, to guide him toward the path to sanity.

" _Alright, dammit, I promise_ ," Jim ground out, anything to get Blair to rest, to save his strength. He'd promise his life, his soul…anything if it would help his Guide, his best friend, to just concentrate on living.

Blair felt peace then and allowed the tension of his body to ease, allowed the searing agony to slip away while he settled into the strong arms that cradled him so close and gave him comfort. Looking up into Jim's eyes, seeing the fear and regretting it, Blair wished he could give comfort back to ease his friend's pain. There was such love in the eyes that held his own, love that sustained him with warmth and safety and filled him with radiant joy. Jim…his best friend, his partner, his Sentinel…his life. _Oh, God_ , he thought, with aching tenderness and helpless sorrow, _I don't want to leave him…._

Blair's eyes remained locked on Jim's, projecting all that was in his soul as he smiled with incandescent radiance, giving the last gift he could to the one he loved best in all creation. " _Love you…Jim_ ," he whispered, with the last of his strength. " _Always, man…_ "

 _"Blair, please…"_ Jim begged brokenly, holding him tighter, feeling Blair's body trembling in tiny spasms, as his muscles demanded the nourishment they were no longer receiving from a flagging, faltering heart. But, even as he pleaded, Blair's hand fell limply away as his eyes clouded and drifted closed.

The sirens were closer now, their shrieking din splitting the night. But their sound was nothing as the Sentinel's hoarse scream filled the air, _**"NNNOOOO!!!!"**_

Ellison pulled Blair against him, and curled tightly around him, his head resting on Blair's curls, desperately holding onto the fragile sound of a heart still fluttering like a butterfly under his hand pressing against Sandburg's back. " _Don't leave me, Chief,_ " he begged as he rocked his friend in mindless despair. _"Dammit… **you promised me** …promised me you'd be careful…you **can't** do this, Sandburg… **God, Blair, please don't let go** …."_

Pulsing lights, the colour of blood, washing over them. The shrill of countless sirens trying to blot out the sound of that precious heart beat. Voices, so many voices shouting and yelling, but they held no interest for him…only the sound of Blair's heart, the soft, rattle of his breath had meaning. Hands grabbing at him, trying to pull Blair away from him.

Lost now, overwhelmed with the stench of blood, concentrating only on that heartbeat, determined to protect his Guide, Ellison shrugged them off as he fought to hold on to the person who mattered most in his whole existence, terrified to let go.

 **"JIM!"** Simon's voice came; strong, steady hands grasped his shoulders. "JIM! You **_HAVE_** to let go. _For God's sake, let them help him!_ "

 _'Promise me, you won't hide,'_ Blair's voice intruded, distant, compelling, cutting through the confusion in his mind.

 **"JIM!"** Simon pleaded.

" _Pppromise,_ " Ellison stuttered softly as he released his grip and let the EMTs take Blair from him.

Simon pulled Jim back and around into his own arms, holding him tightly as he looked past Ellison's shoulder at the blood…so much blood. "Easy, Jim," he murmured through a throat clogged with the grief that filled his being. "Easy, my friend," he soothed the man shuddering with silent sobs in his arms.

" _Oh God…Sandburg…_ " Jim ground out, pulling away, needing to see to his friend, his partner. He couldn't fall apart, not now…not yet. Blair still needed him. That heart was still fluttering…so weak, so vulnerable. He had to be with him, touch him…protect him.

In minutes, Blair was loaded into the ambulance, intravenous running, pressure bandages on the wounds, warmly wrapped against the chill of shock. Jim climbed in behind him, and the doors were slammed closed. In seconds, the emergency vehicle was racing through the night, sirens shrieking, red lights flashing, their garish pulse mimicking the beat of the failing heart within.

********************

For Jim, the night became a series of surreal, shattered images. Blair coding just as they entered the Emergency Room of Cascade General. The crushing silence where there should have been sound. A flurry of activity, confusing to the observer but disciplined and professional. Paddles on Blair's blood-washed chest, his frail, vulnerable body arching, and then again. The blessed sound of a silent heart thumping back, slow and erratic. Clothing being ripped and cut away from a near lifeless body. IV cutdowns, a curved tube thrust down his throat, a bag held to his face, pumping in air. Blood being hastily washed away while a new source of life dripped heavily into his veins. Doctors shouting orders. Nurses responding.

Jim stood in the corner, refusing to be pushed out of the room, his eyes and ears locked on his partner, unaware and uncaring of anything else. They left him, too urgently busy to bother with him. Simon stood by him, a steadying arm around his shoulders, a firm hand gripping his arm, as Ellison watched in a daze of horror that felt as if it would never end.

The doors of the treatment room crashed open as a gurney was hastily wheeled in, and Blair was shifted onto it. And, then, they were gone, taking Sandburg away from him, racing him away down the long crowded corridor, medical staff pushing the wheeled stretcher bearing its precious burden, while others moved people out of the way in the dash for the elevator that someone in scrubs was holding open. Jim stumbled after them, wanting to follow, but Simon pulled him back.

"They're going to the O.R., Jim…you can't go with him," Simon explained patiently, fighting his own stark grief and riotous anxiety, concentrating hard on keeping his voice low and calm, his touch strong and reassuring. "Let him go, Jim…you can't help him now."

"Simon…Sandburg, he's…" Ellison replied incoherently, the shock overcoming him, leaving him uncertain, confused.

"They'll do all they can," Simon cut in. "Blair's in good hands."

"'Hands?'" Jim repeated, looking down at his own hands, smeared with blood that had barely had time to dry. His clothes were thick with Blair's blood, encrusted with it. "Simon…Blair's blood…"

Frowning, realizing the powerful sickly sweet, metallic scent of his best friend's blood was about to send Jim careening into a zone, Simon reached out to lift Jim's jaw, to force his eyes up. "Jim! Listen to me. Don't lose it now, for God's sake."

The dazed look gave way to an unspeakable pain so raw it took Simon's breath away. Pulling Jim against him in a tight, if quick, hug, he gathered his own thoughts. "Come on, Ellison, we have to get you cleaned up." Putting an arm around Jim's shoulder, he turned his friend toward the men's room down the hall and led him along the corridor.

********************

Waiting as the endless minutes ticked by with excruciating sluggishness.

Pacing back and forth along the corridor outside the entrance to the operating theatres beyond.

Voices intruding, trying to distract him from focusing on that precious heart beat, with questions that couldn't be answered, with painful, hesitant reassurances that lacked any wisp of confidence, with sorrowful support.

Silences, terrible silences in the midst of the racket of sounds around him…stark, terrible silences that caught at his heart and breath, making him stagger, but then blessed, fragile beating again, not steady, not strong…but oh so blessedly there.

Memories of Blair flying through the air…of the sound of a fluttering heart going still.

Pacing, waiting, going quietly mad until a soft, compelling voice that just wouldn't quit finally broke through his consciousness.

 _'Promise me,'_ it called, reminding him.

 _'I love you, Jim,'_ it soothed. _'Always…'_

Hearing that voice in his mind, so much clearer, purer, than the cacophony of sound that surrounded him, undid the last traces of control Jim Ellison had left. Staggering to a halt, leaning his shoulder against a wall for support, Jim raised a hand to cover his eyes as they overflowed with grief and pain. " _Oh God, Blair…_ " he whispered, his whole body trembling with emotion.

Strong, kind arms reached out for him and pulled him into an embrace. "That's it, Jim," Joel murmured softly. "Let it out, man…let it out."

Jim's knees buckled but Joel supported his greater weight, easing them both down to their knees, still holding his friend tightly in his arms. Tears streaking his own face, Joel recalled a time not so very long ago when he'd held Blair to let him cry out the grief of his soul. "It's alright to cry," Joel whispered, stroking Ellison's back. "It's alright…"

"God, Joel…he's hurt so bad," Jim choked out. "I saw…I was too late…"

"Shhh," the older man murmured gently. "You were there, you stopped them from hurting him anymore. You called for help. You were with Blair when he needed you," he consoled.

" _Too late,_ " Jim protested, shuddering with guilt, with the horror of the memories.

"Shhh," Joel soothed again, closing his eyes as pulled Jim closer. "You did all you could…more. You were there when he needed you to hold onto."

"What if he…" Jim stammered, but he couldn't say bring himself to say it, the empty, aching abyss of loss drawing him down, leaving him shattered. "I can't…"

"One step at a time, Jim," Joel counseled. "Don't borrow grief, man…one step at a time."

Ever so slowly, the seconds ticked into minutes as the minutes rolled into hours.

********************

The Major Crimes Unit effectively set up shop in the hospital waiting room, too anxious to be too far away, too busy tying up the ends of the case to let it lie.

Lightning raids were conducted all across the country, netting a widespread ring of criminals before they even knew what had hit them and confiscating the largest haul of illegal weaponry in the history of the union. Interrogators had been grilling Guido mercilessly. In return for amnesty on the possible murder of a cop, the man had sung like a canary.

"Pete, he hated that cop, Sandburg…it was personal," he recounted, dumping the full responsibility for the cop's shooting at his nephew's door…hell, he was dead anyway, what did it matter? "My sister told me all the time her boy was at the Academy, all he did was bitch about the 'liar and fraud', and when he was kicked out, he seemed to think that guy, Sandburg, was the source of all his problems. Bragged about trashing the guy's car. Stole those drugs from you cops to frame him…stupid ass. No sense. Pete never had no sense."

It all came out. The big story that the newspapers would headline for days about a generation of weapons' theft and illegal trafficking that reached into every major, and many minor, cities in the country. And, the smaller story, the one that haunted the detectives of the Major Crimes Unit. A story of petty vengeance, a shadowy trail of unrelated incidents that they hadn't paid attention to or followed up closely enough. If they had, that trail might not have led to bloodshed on a dark, cold night on the edge of the city.

********************

Exhausted, Jim was slumped in one of the battered vinyl chairs, his elbows propped on the arms, his neck bent, his fingers absently massaging his forehead as if they had the magic to drive his pounding headache away. "If only we'd gone after the cleaning staff…we'd have gotten that bastard Mallory then," he mumbled, thinking as well of the flat tires and the smashed windshield, wishing with sick guilt that he hadn't let his initial sense of impending danger slip away.

"We didn't have sufficient evidence to pursue it, Jim, you know that," Simon sighed, ever rational.

"'If only,' will only drive you crazy, Jim," Joel murmured. "Let it go."

"Yeah," Ellison sighed, to one or both, they didn't know.

Finally, long after a thin dawn had forced its way through the gloom of a Cascade winter sky, Dr. Frank Reynolds, the surgeon who had sewn Jim back together not many weeks before, swung through the doors. Leaping to their feet, a crowd of five men and two women quickly surrounded the physician, causing him to hold up his hands to hold them at bay. Simon thought the man looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes, his face drawn…not the man who'd been tired but still vibrant with energy the last time he'd stood in this corridor waiting for news of a friend. His heart sinking, Banks didn't read it as a good sign.

"Jim," Reynolds said, readily identifying his former patient, understanding after a month of seeing Sandburg hover over this big detective just how close the two friends were, reached out a steadying hand to grasp Ellison's arm.

"Frank," Jim asked, his voice strained, "how…"

"He made it through surgery, though it was touch and go more often than I like," Reynolds advised them all, understating the controlled panic engendered by three cardiac arrests on the table. "Four bullets," he continued. "All of them penetrated Blair's chest cavity with savage results." Sighing, as he ran an unconscious hand through his short, graying hair, he continued, "His right lung collapsed, and then his left, which is what caused the respiratory and cardiac failures on arrival early this morning. As you know, arteries were compromised causing massive blood loss very quickly, which pitched Blair into deep shock. But…he's still hanging on. We've patched up the damage, but his breathing is still very compromised, the strain on his heart may yet be overwhelming. Give it a day, maybe two, and we'll see how he fares."

"When can I…" Jim began.

"See him?" Frank Reynolds supplied, anticipating the demand. "We'll be taking him upstairs within the hour and you can see him then. But, Jim…" he stated firmly, "I caution you. You haven't been out of here all that long yourself. I don't wanting you pulling the forty-eight or seventy-two hour shifts that Blair spent at your bedside. If he gets through the next couple of days, he's going to need you to be there for him. Recovery will take time and you'll need your rest to be ready when he wakes up."

"So long as Sandburg keeps breathing," Ellison replied, unconcerned about the state of his own health, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me…just keep him alive. Okay?"

"You know we'll do all we can," Frank assured him, patting his shoulder. Turning to Simon, he said, "I'll hold you accountable for making sure Detective Ellison here doesn't over do it."

Snorting at the hopelessness of that task, Simon replied, "Why don't you just ask me to keep the sun from rising…it would be a hell of a lot easier."

********************

An hour later, Jim walked into the dim room, the curtains drawn against the morning light while Simon lingered in the hall, the others waiting in the lounge farther down the corridor. Jim moved slowly to the bed, one hand rubbing his lips and chin, unconsciously ready to hold back a sob that had no place here. Here, he had to be strong, for Blair. Here, he had to be confident his partner would not leave him. His Guide needed the strength that the Sentinel brought to him, an offering, praying that it be accepted.

Blair's hair was loosely pulled back, long dark lashes contrasting with the purple bruises on his battered face and the sickly gray pallor beneath them, his lips tinged blue around the tube of the ventilator. His chest moved in shallow respiration while the machines blipped and hummed, and intravenous bottles dripped liquids with dreary monotony into long lines while other tubes drained bloody fluids from his body.

Swallowing, Jim moved closer, reaching with one hand to curl his fingers around Blair's and with the other to brush his fingertips in a gentle caress along the side of his friend's face. Frowning at the coolness of Blair's skin under his touch, his eyes flicked and spotted the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Reaching, he pulled it up over the thin sheet that hid most of the bandages around Blair's chest from view. After carefully tucking the blanket up under Sandburg's chin and around his shoulders, Jim again took Blair's hand in his own, while one hand still rested on his friend's shoulder.

Ellison trembled, too overwrought to force words past the lump in his tight, dry, throat. Impatiently, the Sentinel blinked tears from his eyes and forced away the urge to weep. There'd been enough tears. Blair was alive. He wouldn't leave now…not now that he'd been cared for and was watched over. He wouldn't leave his friend bereft, his partner shattered, his Sentinel lost in a never-ending night. 'No,' Jim told himself over and over in the silence of his mind, 'Sandburg wouldn't do that…he won't abandon me, he promised. He said he'd always come back to me. So long as he was alive, he'd come back to me.'

"How's he doing?" murmured Joel, coming to stand sentry with Simon as they both gazed into the room through the wall paned with glass.

"Which one?" asked Simon with a sigh, wondering if he'd ever felt this weary before.

********************

They'd decided to take it in shifts to be with Ellison until…well, until they knew, one way or the other. No way would they leave Jim alone so long as Sandburg journeyed through the valley of death. To ease Jim's burden, Simon took on the task of tracking Naomi down, finally finding her in a remote village in India, kneeling at the foot of some swami for all Banks knew or cared. The cell connection on her end was poor and kept breaking up, which didn't help. She'd cried first, in shock, then cursed with a surprising vigour, claiming she'd known all along that being a cop would kill Blair. Simon told her coldly that her son wasn't yet dead and inquired as to whether she'd been returning or if he should call her again the next day to give her further news.

"I can't face that journey," she'd sniffed then, sounding wan and frail. "So much grief, on my own. No, I'm better to stay here where I have friends to support me…to meditate with and send good vibes to Blair."

"Meditate," Simon repeated, rolling his eyes in frustration with this woman who wouldn't drop anything, let alone everything, to rush to the side of a son anyone else would kill to have. "That's good, Naomi… Blair needs all the good vibes you can send him right now." She didn't pick up the resignation in his voice, or the bitterness.

Later, it was Joel who was sitting with Jim, both of them relieved that the typical hassling from the staff to leave after only a few minutes had been over-ridden by Frank Reynolds' orders on Blair's chart. The surgeon didn't begin to understand the link between the two men, or the literal power of love he could feel radiating toward Blair Sandburg from all of the usually so taciturn and gruff police officers haunting their corridors. That love bathed the unconscious man with an almost visible light and tangible warmth, and Reynolds knew in his soul it was that love that had kept bringing the young man back when he'd faltered on the table, that was holding him here still.

The kid shouldn't have made it to the hospital with the mess those bullets had created, with barely a drop of blood left in his body beyond that which was awash in his chest cavity. When Jim had been in the hospital a month before, the staff had been spreading the story about how Sandburg had been brought in at the beginning of last spring, having ostensibly been drowned in a fountain they'd said. A miracle, everyone had called it, that he had revived after having been clinically dead for so long.

 _A miracle_ , Reynolds thought as he gazed in at the tableau of the three men. Two sitting in vigil, Ellison close by the bed with a hand clenched around his friend's wrist and his colleague sitting close by; one on the bed, fighting for his life. _A miracle_ , he thought again. Bowing his head, the surgeon humbly asked for yet another miracle as he prayed that this young man would again triumph over death.

Inside the room, staring at Blair's face, praying for some sign of awareness, Jim sighed, a lost sound of lonely despair as he tightened his grip around Blair's wrist.

Joel turned his gaze from the friend on the bed to the one suffering beside him. "Don't give up hope, Jim," he said softly.

"He just looks so…fragile, Joel…so vulnerable," Jim murmured. "I'm so afraid for him."

"Blair's strong, Jim, you know that," Joel replied. "You know he just doesn't quit…"

"I know," Ellison murmured, "better than anyone. I know." Stiff, shifting in his chair, Jim raked fingers through his hair as he bit his lip, burdened again with those memories, fragments of horrific sights and sounds as he'd turned the corner of the warehouse and could see…

"He didn't defend himself, Joel," Jim shared quietly. "I heard what was going down while I was still too far away to help. He wouldn't kill to save his own life…." Jim's voice cracked as he recalled, "He even begged the guy not to shoot…not to save his own life, but to save that animal's soul."

Joel blew out a long sigh, closing his eyes against the unwelcome scene he could only too clearly imagine from the fragments of information they'd all pieced together of what had gone down, unsurprised by Jim's words. Unsurprised because he'd long hoped that a moment like that would never come about, that Blair would never be forced to that choice. Softly, he said, "Blair protects souls, nourishes them, cherishes them. He'd not risk his own soul even at the cost of his life, Jim…he knows that life is not the end of it. If he ever doubted it, which isn't likely, he learned that for sure at the fountain."

Jim flinched at the memories those words evoked. Clamping his hands together to control their trembling, he swallowed then looked at Joel. "I want more than his soul for company, Joel," he said bluntly. "If Sandburg can't defend himself, he can't be a cop."

Frowning, Joel shook his head. "You can't make his decisions for him, Jim…haven't you learned that yet?" he asked, frustration tingeing his voice, though he didn't disagree with his colleague.

"Yeah, I know," Ellison replied, irritation and frustration, fear and the memory of a commitment tearing at his soul. "It has to be his decision. I'm just saying he can't keep doing this…can't keep risking his life if he won't do anything to _protect himself_ …not me, not other people… _himself_."

Smiling slightly despite the grimness of their vigil, Joel reflected that Ellison was talking as if he was convinced Blair would live to face that decision. Settling back in his chair, he took comfort from that; Joel figured if anyone would know if Blair was going to survive, Ellison would.

He smiled more broadly when he realized Ellison had been talking about 'hearing' with his extraordinary senses without a second thought, without even seeming to realize it. Turning his gaze back to his much beloved friend lying so still on the raised bed, he thought, "He's going to be all right, Blair…and so, I dearly hope, will you."

 _'Have faith, man,'_ he heard a familiar voice answer from somewhere near by. Startled, he looked around, wondering if Sandburg's spirit was hovering in the air beside him, his gaze catching Ellison's.

"Don't tell me you just heard him, too?" Jim asked in disbelief at the stunned look on Joel's face, thinking Blair's voice was only a memory trick of his mind.

"Have faith, man," Joel echoed with a tremulous smile, his eyes damp. "Have faith."

********************

**_Chapter Six: And the Greatest of These is Love…._ **

It was a long twenty-nine hours, thirty-five since he'd been gunned down, before Blair stirred and moaned softly.

In a flash, Ellison was up beside the bed, gripping Blair's hand, brushing his curls back from his face. "Hey, Chief," he called softly. "You coming back to us?"

"Mmrrgghh," Blair moaned again, his fingers fluttering, too weak to grip Jim's hand, a frown on his face as he struggled back to consciousness…and then a grimace as pain lanced through him.

"Easy, Blair," Jim soothed, stroking his partner's face with a gentleness his fingers rarely showed. "Just take your time. I know it hurts. Don't try to talk…they've got you on a respirator to help you breathe."

"Mm," Blair murmured, a sound different from the semi-conscious groan as his eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light.

And, somehow, Ellison knew it was his name Blair was trying to say. "I'm here, buddy, I'm here…just rest, Chief."

Dark blue eyes as wide as forever gazed up trustingly into lighter ones filled with warmth and love. A smile tried to play around Blair's lips, inhibited by the large tube taped there, but Jim could see it, and his own eyes glazed with moisture before he could blink it away. "Welcome back, Sandburg," he murmured softly. "Don't worry about anything…everything's all right."

Blair gazed at him a moment more, a question flickering in his eyes as he searched the gaze of his Sentinel, a question soon replaced by the clear glow of love as he found his answer. Relaxing with the pain, not fighting it, reassured that his Sentinel wasn't lost, he nodded very slightly, then let himself drift back to sleep.

********************

"You know, we gotta stop meeting like this," Blair quipped with a suppressed gasp of pain, as Jim wrapped a strong arm around him to help him move from the bed to the battered leather chair. "Way too much hospital time here, Jim. They'll think we've moved in."

"We have, pretty much," Jim shot back, not terribly amused. "This last year, it's been either you or me taking up space in this place. Not that they're not pleasant people, but it…"

"Gets real old, real fast," Blair chimed in unison with Ellison, then chuckled. "I _cannot_ wait to get home, man."

"I can't wait, either, Sandburg…behave yourself and they might give you parole in a week or so," Ellison agreed, ruffling his friend's hair before he moved away to pull his own chair closer.

 _"A **week** , oh, man,"_ Sandburg whined, then turned his wide hopeful gaze on his partner. "You gotta be able to do better than that, Jim…you're a medic…you can change the dressings, make sure I do what I'm supposed to…"

"Since when have I _ever_ been able to _make_ you do anything, Chief?" Ellison shot back, then grinned to show he didn't hold a grudge.

"I'll be good, I promise…I'll drink lots of fluids, take my medicine, stay in bed except when you say I can get up. C'mon, Jim, break me outta here," Blair cajoled.

"Tired of us already, Blair," Frank Reynolds observed as he briskly entered the room. "And, here I thought we were all being very nice to you."

"Uh, it's not that, Frank, and you know it. Everyone's been great…I just miss being home," Blair hastily explained, blushing to have been caught pleading like a child. He'd only been teasing, Jim. Well, mostly teasing…partly teasing…he really wanted to go home.

Reynolds chuckled as he moved in to examine one of his favourite patients. "I'd like to see you go home, too…and _not_ see you come back," he added with a warm smile, satisfied with the healing wounds and Blair's vital signs. Glancing at Jim, he mused, "A medic, huh? Think you're up to taking responsibility for him?"

"No," Jim replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

 _"Jimmm!"_ Blair protested, almost a wail.

"But, I will agree to take on responsibility for taking care of him, at least while he's recovering, and promises not to wander off, leaving me in the dust," Jim continued, only partly teasing. Well, maybe mostly. He really missed having Sandburg at home. Hell, he missed Sandburg, period. At home, in the office, shopping, whatever. He wanted him back and away from the doctors and nurses and the lingering memories this place held.

"Well…it's early, but you're doing well, Blair…I think we can spring you loose…" Frank began.

Eagerly, his face alight with hope, Blair jumped in, "When?"

Laughing, Frank asked, "How soon can you get dressed?"

"Like I'm dressed good enough, man, and ready to roll," Blair crowed happily. "Bring on the wheelchair and let me _outta_ here!"

"Alright," Frank replied with an indulgent smile. "Give me a few minutes to finish up the paper work, and we'll boot the two of you right on 'outta here'. But, you call my office and arrange to see me in two days, alright?"

"I'm down with that, Frank…no problem," Blair nodded enthusiastically. "And, hey, thanks, man…for everything. You did a great job putting me back together." Sandburg said it so guilelessly, with no shadows of the trauma he'd barely survived, just with a bright glow of glorious happiness.

Gazing at him, Jim shook his head then lowered it to hide his smile. _Just like a kid on Christmas morning_ , he thought, himself so happy he could burst. _Just like a kid. And, God help me, I love him more than anything or anyone else on the face of this earth._

********************

Jim gave Blair a few days to just enjoy being home, with all that that meant. His own bed. His favourite herbal teas. Being wrapped tightly for warmth, but able to sit outside in the fresh air, watching the promise of a new dawn or reflective, as the sun set with a brilliant blaze of colour. His music. His favourite snacks. The scent of candles and the indefinable fragrance of home. Lazy naps on the couch. The peace of it.

And the company of his best friend to make it all simply perfect.

But, the day after Frank Reynolds had pronounced him to be making excellent progress, Jim sat down across from his friend, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Blair looked up and read the stance, the intent, serious expression and his own clouded in puzzlement.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked, shifting a little straighter on the sofa.

"Chief, we need to have a talk," Ellison replied, then took a breath. "I don't know how much you remember of what happened…"

"I remember it, Jim," Blair replied soberly. "I remember being so relieved…so _incredibly_ relieved, that you were there. I don't know how you always know when I need you, man…but you are _always_ there."

"Not quite soon enough this time, Sandburg," Jim replied somberly. "But soon enough to know what went down. I heard what you said and, well, I know what you did. Or, rather, didn't do."

Blair's gazed dropped away. "Oh," he murmured, not having been quite ready for this little talk.

"Yeah, 'oh'," Jim sighed. "Blair…you refused to defend yourself. You might have had a chance, if you'd gone after Mallory. That Guido wasn't likely to shoot you. But, you didn't. You wouldn't. What was that about, Chief? I thought you told me you'd be careful, not take foolish chances. I know it's hard for you to kill, but…" His voice faltered and died.

Blair swallowed as he tried to find the words to help Jim understand. "But I've done it before," Blair murmured, finishing Jim's unspoken thought with a sigh. Looking up at his friend, his gaze steady and earnest, he said, "That was different. Other people's lives were at risk. I didn't have a choice if I was going to protect someone innocent from being murdered."

Frowning, Jim challenged, "What about _your_ innocence, Sandburg? What about _your_ life being at risk? Why are the lives of strangers so much, I don't know, _more worthy_ , that you can kill to save them but you can't do the same to save yourself?"

"Different responsibilities, man…it's two completely different things," Blair replied soberly.

"Really? Well, excuse me, but I don't see the difference here. Enlighten me," Jim demanded almost harshly, feeling fear curl in his gut as he realized he'd been right to worry that this hadn't just been a one time aberration…Sandburg hadn't just frozen, confused in the moment. It had been a choice, and in similar circumstances he'd make the same choice again.

Nodding, Blair swallowed as he ordered his thoughts. "When there are others involved, I'm responsible for their welfare. If their lives are threatened by another human being, then I have a responsibility to protect them," he said, watching Jim's face, reading his expressions. "Regardless of whether that means I have to kill to do it."

"Right, I'm with you so far," Jim nodded.

"But, when it's my life and I have to choose between it and another, someone who, if I kill them, will never redeem their souls, or, if I let them kill me, may have the chance…to learn, to grow…then I have to safeguard their soul. That's my responsibility, too," he explained, as clearly as he could.

" _Where is that written, Sandburg?_ What makes that the law? If some monster kills you, what about all the good you can do that's wasted, all the other people you might have helped while that piece of shit is playing out his time in jail…or escaping to kill someone else?" Jim argued back.

"It's not 'written' anywhere, man, except maybe on my own soul," Blair replied, a look in his eyes that begged for understanding.

But, it wasn't forthcoming. "What about me? What about your responsibilities to me to be my Guide? My partner? My friend? Doesn't that count for anything in these rules of yours?" Jim pushed, pulling out all the stops.

Blair closed his eyes and looked away. His throat tight, he whispered, " _That_ was the _only_ thing that made me even consider the option of killing that night, Jim." His voice full, he continued, "And, not just because of my 'responsibility', either. You are a whole lot more to me than a simple responsibility, you know that." Looking back at Jim, his voice was trembling as he said, "But…I'm not only your friend, or partner or even Guide. I'm also the Shaman of this City…and I'm starting to understand what that means."

Ellison blew out a snort of disgust at that. "Oh great," he groaned, falling back into his chair, "the Shaman bit. _Damn Incacha. Damn him_ for saying that to you with his last breath."

"Don't, Jim," Blair pleaded, raising a hand in unconscious supplication. "You don't mean that."

 ** _"The hell I don't,"_** Ellison exploded. "You're telling me that because you believe you are a Shaman that you have to give up your life to save some worthless piece of trash, in case he might someday reform? Where do you get that? Incacha killed in self-defence. When the tribe was attacked, or he was. He knew he didn't do anyone a whole lot of good if he was dead. Why can't you see that?"

Blair pushed his fingers through his hair as he fought to remain calm, to control his own raging emotions. Taking a deep, centering breath, he replied, "Incacha lived in a different world, a different culture. He was raised with different values and principles. He could kill to save himself without it being a crisis of the soul. But…I can't. I just can't take another life, cut off all its potential, without a reason greater than saving my own."

"Naomi," Jim muttered bitterly, "and all that stuff she crammed into your head when you were a kid."

"No," Blair stated with great deliberation, conviction in his voice. "These are not Naomi's values or Naomi's principles. I am a man, Jim…I have thought this stuff through for myself. I'm not just parroting someone else's philosophy of existence…this is what _I_ believe. What is 'truth' for _me_. My life, your life, anybody's life, is a transient thing, a flash in time. But, our souls are eternal. If I condemn a soul that is dark with…with the stain of intended murder, that soul pays the penalty…maybe forever, Jim. And… and my soul gets a little darker, too, when I am forced to kill. But, I can deal with that, accept the risks of that, to save those who depend upon me. I _cannot_ kill, condemn a soul that might yet find light if I give it more time, if I have the choice."

"Well, I seem to condemn souls all the time, Sandburg…I kill in self-defence. What does that make me according to your rules?" Jim pushed, wondering if Sandburg respected him after all.

"Jim, my choices and your choices aren't the same thing. Like Incacha, you've got your own rules for what is right, or wrong, for you to do. Your own sense of ethics and integrity. You are a Warrior…not a Shaman," Blair struggled to explain, knowing it was confusing…and that it was only _his_ version of whatever the great cosmic truth was. 'No,' he shook, his head, with a humble sigh. 'Not _cosmic_ truth… just my truth…the only truth for me that I can live with.'

"Fine," Jim snapped, "if I'm a warrior and you're not, then, that's it. You can't be a cop. You can't go out on the streets to face God knows what when we both know you won't do a damned thing to defend yourself."

Sandburg stiffened, a warning in his eyes. "We've had this conversation," he said, his voice firm. "I make the choices about how I live my life, not you. I'm committed to being your friend, your partner and your Guide. If that means being a cop, with all the risks that holds, that's just the way it is. Live with it."

Ellison stared at him for a long moment, then looked away, the muscles along his jaw jumping furiously as he kept his lips clamped tightly closed on words that would only too clearly make not one whit of difference.

Sighing, knowing how very hard all this was for his friend to accept, Blair offered the only comfort he could. "Jim," Blair's voice implored softly. "I know it hurts you to hear this stuff. Scares you. It scares me. I don't want to die…I don't want to leave you. But…you said Incacha doesn't do anybody any good dead. That's not true. You've seen his soul, spoken with him. So have I. You know what I'm saying about the soul is true…it _is_ eternal. No matter what ever happens, I will be near you, close by. I can't… can't imagine ever abandoning you."

"No?" Jim murmured bitterly. "Death always seems pretty final to me, Chief."

"C'mon," Blair cajoled. "You know better than that…you're the one who sees ghosts."

Neither amused nor comforted, Jim turned hard eyes back to Sandburg's gaze. "Joel said something like all this to me in the hospital when we were waiting to see if you were ever going to wake up. I told him I wanted more than your soul for company, Chief. I meant it."

When Blair looked down, unsure of what more he could say, Jim continued, his voice strained, until it finally cracked on his last questions, "You _might_ be around when I need you, as my Guide. But…what about my friend, Blair? What about my brother? How do I do this…without you? You taught me how to break down my walls, Chief…without you, and without walls, what do I have left?"

Tears filled Blair's eyes at the appeal of a soul that was frightened, a soul that needed him as did no other …and also loved him as no other soul did. Biting his lip, fighting for control, he whispered hoarsely, once again illuminating the path, "You let other people into your heart, Jim. You choose not to be alone."

Tears filled Ellison's eyes then, tears of hopelessness and the sense of the inevitability of the loss he would face if they continued along the path they were currently traveling. This wasn't working. Jim couldn't just give up, 'live with it'…this was Blair's _life_ that was at stake. It was too important to leave it like this…to leave him in such danger. God, how he wished he had control and could just tell Blair he wasn't going to put himself in such a position again…but he couldn't. He'd surrendered to love, to Blair's right to choose the path…he'd promised to respect Blair as a friend, and as his Guide, and he'd provide the backup, the protection. Maybe…maybe if he couldn't control…couldn't command…rubbing the moisture away with his fingers, Jim cleared his throat as he sat forward again.

Time to take another tack.

Time to play his Sentinel card.

"Guide," Jim said deliberately, looking up into Blair's eyes, fighting to keep his voice steady, "I have promised to follow you, and I will. I have promised to protect you from dangers so far as I am able, even at the cost of my life. But, as your Protector, I have a duty to caution you and I hope you will hear me. The path we are on is not safe. You cannot safely play the roles of Guide, Shaman _and_ Cop. They are incompatible and, as you have just said yourself, the role of Cop puts your own soul in danger. I need you as my Guide. The people of this city need you as their Shaman. I want my friend beside me. So, I ask you to choose, Guide. In respect for your own responsibilities if not to please me, choose another path…find a way through this jungle that will allow you to be Guide and Shaman, allow you to be with me, at less risk than the path we are on now. Out of love, my brother, I ask you to consider my words."

Blair just gaped at him for a long moment, then murmured, "Jesus, Jim…" But his voice fell away as did his eyes as he thought through what his Sentinel had just asked of him.

Jim sat back and waited, wretchedly grateful that he'd at least gotten Blair to think about a different option. Trembling, he thought he might have won a reprieve…an opportunity to maybe save Blair from himself.

Finally, after the silence had lengthened until Jim thought he might scream, Blair looked up at him with a quiet smile. "You have given me wise counsel, Sentinel. I will heed your words. Somehow, I don't know how yet, but somehow, I will find us a different path."

Jim crashed.

It had taken every last bit of strength he'd had to deny his own need for control and plead that his friend make another choice, a choice they could _both_ live with. His body trembling, he bit his lip to fight back the sob of relief, his eyes brimming with tears he couldn't contain. He curled forward, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to hold it in. God, the relief was shattering.

In a heartbeat, Blair was on his knees beside him, wrapping strong arms around him, leaning into him until Jim's arms loosened and came around him, clinging to him with his body, his heart and his soul.

"Oh God, Jim," Blair gasped, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I hurt you so bad. Please…don't be afraid. I'm here…I'm here."

Heaving a breath, his voice cracking, Jim replied, "I'm not afraid, Guide, so long as you lead me. I cannot be hurt, so long as you are with me. Your love protects and strengthens me…and gives me peace. I'm not crying because I'm afraid…God, Blair…I'm just so damned _relieved_ you _heard_ me…."

"Oh, I heard you, man," Blair answered, tears on his own cheeks. "Loud and clear." Trying to lighten the mood, he leaned back a little with a wobbly grin. "You know, Jim…you're getting really good at this Sentinel thing. I am _impressed_ , man…you blew me away."

"You say that like I should be glad…it only took me four years to figure out how to make you listen to a little sense," Jim snapped back, but then he sniffed and grinned to take away the sting out of it, as he reached to stroke his hand over Blair's wild mane. "Still, I guess it shows even a dumb cop can learn new tricks."

"Not so dumb, my friend," Blair chuckled back. "Not by a long shot."

"Could you use a different expression, Chief," Jim asked with exaggerated innocence. "The word 'shot' makes me wince when it's associated with you."

Blair giggled then started to laugh as he hugged Jim tightly. "Whatever you want, man."

"Promises, promises," Jim murmured wistfully, as he hugged his friend right back.

********************

They brainstormed and debated all the various options they could come up with, finally settling on one that seemed to fit their needs and wants as well as any. When they then discussed how to present it to Simon, to get his support, Blair collapsed in giggles at Jim's preferred approach, gasping, "Oh yeah, man…we gotta do it."

The following day, Jim and Blair showed up in the Major Crimes Unit and, for a long while, Jim just stood back and watched with delight as his colleagues… 'friends,' he amended to himself, welcomed Blair back with unbridled enthusiasm and touching warmth. Simon came to the door of his office, determined to quell the riot that had arisen in the bullpen, but he grinned, totally disarmed, when he saw Sandburg. Finally, they were able to make their way to his office, and once they were inside, Blair softly closed the door.

Turning to Simon, his face solemn, Sandburg pulled out his badge and his gun and laid them on Simon's desk.

"What's _this_ about?" Banks demanded, alarm flashing in his eyes as he looked from one to another.

"I'm sorry, Simon," Blair replied, his eyes wide with unfeigned sincerity. "I'll always be grateful for the way you stood up for me, and got me the chance to carry this badge. It's not easy for me to give it back to you. But…after what happened, I know with no doubt that I can't kill somebody to save my own life. Jim has helped me to understand that I can't be a cop anymore…not with the risks we face everyday. I'm resigning, Simon."

"Oh, Jesus, Blair…" Simon groaned unable to think of anything to say. The kid was right. It _was_ too dangerous for him to be a cop. But…damn, he'd been a great detective. Ellison needed him as a partner…hell, they all needed him on the team.

Jim moved forward then as Blair looked away and made his way over to the window, pushing himself up to sit on the ledge. "There's something else, Simon…with Blair resigning, I need a new partner. And, well, I need your help to get who I want."

Taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose, Simon felt if he was in the twilight zone, that this really couldn't be happening…Ellison couldn't be standing there calmly asking for a new partner. Hell, Ellison had refused _any_ partner until Sandburg came along. He asked wearily, "Really, Detective…and who would this new partner be?"

"Well," Jim replied, struggling to keep his face straight, "I have this nephew, my sister's kid. And, well, he finally got his Ph.D., but damned if the university won't give him a job. So…I was thinking…maybe we could get him a position as a civilian consultant, and he could be assigned to work with me…actually, he's asked that I…that we…make this happen."

Simon froze, then looked from Ellison to Sandburg, who said with an eager, hopeful expression, "I have a really good understanding of the 'thin blue line'…"

"Would you quit with the 'thin blue line' stuff, Chief?" Ellison cut in. "What he's trying to say, sir, is he has a lot of relevant experience and has even written a paper on the police 'sub-culture', whatever that is…"

"You mean, you _haven't_ read the paper, Ellison?" Simon asked, frankly astonished.

"He's not much of a reader, Simon. The big words confuse him," Blair offered innocently.

Jim threw him a pained look, but simply replied, "There hasn't been a lot of spare time since it was published Simon. I'll get to it. But, that's not the point here. What do you say? Will you speak to the brass?"

With a put-upon sigh, struggling to keep his lips from twitching into a treacherous smile, Simon nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Shouldn't be that much trouble to get this 'cousin' of yours an observer, er, consultant's pass. But…" he held up a hand when they broke into smiles, "it will be _your_ responsibility to keep him out of trouble."

"I can live with that," Blair chirped, slipping off the window ledge, grinning brightly as he moved to stand beside Jim.

"That's the whole idea, Chief," Jim replied with a sigh as he turned back to Simon. "I'll do my best, sir," he vowed.

"I'm sure you will, Detective," Simon replied, and found he could no longer resist breaking into a broad smile, "I'm sure you will."

Leaning back in his chair, smiling with great satisfaction as he picked up a cigar, Simon found he no longer minded being in the 'Sandburg Zone'.

Hell, the place was never boring, and was often pretty damned amusing.

Who wouldn't want to be there?

* * *

Finis


End file.
